This was originally posted 2018, Aug 03

I am slightly over a month away from the one year mark of my unintended benzo withdrawal. It has really been on my mind lately. I lost the majority of my memories from last fall and part of last winter. I still have memory issues.

Hang on, I’m sorry. That’s way too complicated of a way to start this post. Let’s go back and talk about what happened and then I’ll get to what I’ve been thinking about.

About two and a half years ago I hit a very low point, emotionally. My job wasn’t going well, my mother was sick, and I really didn’t feel like I had enough (or any) control over the trajectory of my life. I eventually admitted that I needed outside help. I found a group that could treat both my brain and my emotions. <strong>Therapy is wonderful</strong>. I can’t recommend it enough. Between my therapist (She’s a goddess, I swear.) and my psychiatrist, things were on the upswing.

Now let’s talk about where the benzos came into the story. That takes us even farther back. The FIRST first time was without a prescription at some point in my teens when I lived in Tucson. It was never about getting high. At the time it was to try and help me sleep (I’m a lifelong insomniac. Fun!), but fast-forward to being an adult. I was finally sleeping better, but still having a lot of anxiety. It’s something I’ve struggled with as long as I can remember. So my GP at the time prescribed a very low dose of a benzo. ONLY for absolute emergencies. Fine. That was around 2009. I’d go multiple years at a time without needing to fill the prescription. I rarely ever took it. But I took it when I needed it.

We’ve now caught up to where I was on the upswing. While not being aware of its addictive properties, I’d been told repeatedly by many people that the benzo I was taking can affect the person’s memory, as well as increase the possibility of getting dementia later in life. So I was feeling better. With my medical people I lowered my dose, but was still cutting pills into quarter segments to take a smaller dose. So they prescribed an even LOWER dose. This was all over the coarse of two or three months. Not a very long time.

All of my medical professionals warned me to stop taking the benzo. Not a single fucking one of them told me not to just stop taking them. I’m not a hard drug user. There was no reason at any point in my life I’d have the knowledge to not do what I did. It was up to those medical professionals to tell me. But they didn’t.

So when I felt better, I stopped.

I don’t know how long it took for the initial withdrawal to kick in, only how long it took to understand what was happening to me. It wasn’t an act of “I am going to stop taking this.” Because I took it when needed, I simply stopped needing it and therefore taking it. To make things more confusing, I was also switching one of my other meds at the same time. One was being swapped for something similar. So there was a lot going on in my brain all at once.

What I do know is that I went from being the most emotionally stable I had been in over ten years to being in a never-ending panic that also felt like I was on some sort of psychedelic drug. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t eat. I would be freezing cold then instantly be covered head to toe in sweat then back to cold again a few minutes later. I couldn’t sleep, although I would occasionally have crazy fever dreams/delusions. I was about 72 hours into that when a physicians assistant finally recognized that I was in a benzo withdrawal. My options at that point were to start taking either the same benzo (or a similar one) but in an even smaller dose to taper off, or I could just ride it out.  I was TERRIFIED of going through all of that again, so I chose to ride it out. A year later I do truly wish I’d made the other choice. This has been an incredibly difficult year emotionally (and as a result of that, physically). The first week or so was pretty much a continuous panic. Not a bunch in a row. It. Never. Stopped. My world literally felt like it was ending around me. One of the hardest/worst parts was knowing that all of the work I’d done with therapy was gone.

Not just gone but everything was so much worse than it had been before. The panic finally did stop, but it came back hard and it came back often. Panic was an ugly family member who liked to just show up randomly.

It’s gotten better but it’s been a hell of a journey. First it was every few days. Then it was every few weeks. Now it’s every few months. Hopefully it will stop someday.

Y’all, that withdrawal messed up my brain. I have hopes that it’s not all permanent. But let’s step back and took at the bigger picture here.

To treat my panic, my physician (No longer my physician.) gave me something that if I were to stop, would make my panic worse. Basically chaining me to that drug for life. With no warning.

<strong>With no fucking warning, y’all.</strong>

My therapist showed me a great online support group and I learned that what happened to me is COMMON.

<strong>So now we get back to what I’ve been thinking about.</strong>

I want to be loud about what happened. It happened to me. It’s happened to a TON of other people. <strong>BUT NO ONE FUCKING TALKS ABOUT IT, SO THE PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T EXPERIENCED IT YET DON’T KNOW. This has to stop. And I think I want to stop it with me.</strong>

I don’t know how. It’s going to take a lot of thinking and planning and organization and work, but I think I’m willing to do that. <strong>People need to know what these <span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>LEGAL</span> prescription drugs do to people. </strong>I didn’t go through a withdrawal because I stopped getting high. I went through it because I didn’t need the medicine anymore and no one had told me the safe way to stop it.

When I was a kid, somewhere between 6 and 10, a friend had a sleepover birthday party. It had the usual parts of said party, and at one point the birthday girl wanted to watch a movie or show or something, so we were all crowded in front of a TV.

I freaked out. Like, legitimately freaked out.

Let’s go back a bit and explain why.

First, I was in trouble for something at the time I was at the party My punishment for pretty much anything meant no television. I sat with the other girls for a few minutes and became TERRIFIED of my mother finding out, and I had no idea what a 2nd or 3rd level punishment would include. I went and found an adult and made them call my mother for permission for me to watch TV. I was legitimately surprised that she was OK with it, but that was more than likely a fast decision on what would make her look the “best” to this other girl’s parents.

It became a family joke, and I’ve told the story many times over the years, but it wasn’t until literally this morning I realized how abnormal that entire situation was. And it got me thinking about WHY I was so worried about breaking the rule.

I was actually terrified of her. Think about it outside of the context of this blog post. A small child, at another child’s birthday, so worried about the punishment for breaking a rule, that I have zero positive memories of the party. I have the same lack of good memories from our trip to Disney in Florida. I’ve always assumed it was because it was shortly before my parents got divorced and they were just shitty and I picked up on it. I’m pretty certain that trip had the same absolute fear of punishment from her.

It’s just not fucking funny, and I shouldn’t have to be working to convince myself of that.

How fucked up is that, y’all? Not only did she beat me down (Emotionally, I was never punished physically after the last time I was spanked at 5 or 6. That’s a story for another blog post.) so damned much that I was too afraid of her to enjoy most positive situations, but she gaslit me so fucking hard that it’s taken this long for me to realize they were both COMPLETELY her fault.

 

I keep randomly unpacking shit like this, and it’s always about 6/10 feel better for realizing something/being incredibly angry and sad that she did it to me. All of it. My therapist has to remind me at least once a month that I was a child and didn’t deserve any of what she did to me (minus standard bullshit teenagers do to piss off their parents and feel big). Not a single bit of it. I can’t tell you how fucking hard that is. I have to struggle with it every moment of my life, walking around with forty years of guilt trying to shove me down even from the fucking grave. Which means I have to constantly think about what she did. 

 

It takes a lot of spoons, which is something else I have to constantly remind myself. This struggle is hard and it makes sense that I can’t just brush it off all of the time, and that is OK. The forgiving myself part is the part I am the worst at. I am my own biggest enemy, minus, of course, my mother.

The last relationship I was in before husband did not end well. The funny thing is that what stuck with me is not the one you’d expect. For the sake of this story, let’s call him Sterling. That is not his name but I’m not going to give that here.

I do know he was on a dating website and answering ads while he still lived with me and the chance of him having actually cheated on me are really damned high.

Those both suck. A LOT. There’s no way around that. But those aren’t the things that stuck the most. I was the one who ended things. He just one day stopped answering the phone and texts. The day after, when I finally got him on the phone, I ended things Rolling Stones style. It took a few days, then he finally came over to get his last handful of things he’d left. I gathered the courage to press him for what the hell had happened.

He didn’t know how to answer, or he didn’t know what to say. I still don’t know that one, either. I know this because of his answer. He told me he’d fallen out of love with me because I’d been greedy. 

That answer took me by surprise and I asked him how. He told me he thought I’d only been with him for his money.

It went about like this:

Image of Trump and Jonathan Swain in interview with "you only wanted my money" written on the page.
I’m sorry I what now?

This requires us backing up a few months in the story. As mentioned above, we did live together for a few months. While he lived with me, I paid for everything. EVERYTHING. He was the one with a job, I was unemployed. But I paid all of the rent and all of the bills. He paid for his shitty cheap beers.

So anyway, when he slammed that one on me, I was already not in a good place mentally. I’d broken up with someone else for him. It was the end of a relationship, and I was being treated really poorly and it was long-distance at his choosing. He’d moved back across the country to live with his mother. Sterling was the one who told me “You deserve better than that. I’d have never left you like that because you’re worth so much more than how he treats you.”

When it became obvious that he no longer loved me, it also meant that I was not actually worthy of the things he’d said I was worthy of. Any of it. I sunk down HARD quickly. 

My reaction to “You are greedy.” should have been “What in the literal fuck are you talking about?!” but I was already so fucking broken from how he’d treated me that I just took it along with the chest-crushing guilt that went along with it.

That was 2005. I don’t know what it will take to fix this one. I know I’m worth so much more than him. I know I didn’t deserve to be cheated on.

But my brain is still completely stuck on him thinking I’m greedy. There’s no way he actually thought that, but you convince my brain of that. I’ve not been able to. 

And it sucks. It impacts my relationship with husband any time money is in the discussion. I get extremely defensive at the idea of being told how to handle my cash, and there are times when that’s extremely inconvenient. We’re married. We need to talk about money. But it fucking slays me each and every time. The subject alone makes me feel like I’m once again being told that I’m greedy.

My point is that his very small statement made one of the biggest negative impacts on my life and my emotional well-being. It was nothing to him. He may not even remember the conversation. But it’s just cemented into my brain.

Remember when you tell someone anything, those words often have meanings beyond the part that’s said aloud.

I hate this post. I hate having to make this post. But it’s so important to me that I’m open about the struggles that I have mentally, and I hope that I can make at least one person think twice about saying something hurtful, even if that’s not how you meant it.

Once, many years ago in Tucson, I went with some friends to the drive-in movie. We were there with two or three other cars full of people.

Between the two movies, a guy I don’t know opens my back door and then proceeds to basically rip out a chunk of my back seat (that was not meant to even go down, let alone be removed).

He’s standing there with the chunk of seat and turns and looks at me and basically mumbles that he’s in the wrong car (NO FUCKING SHIT) and hands me the seat piece.

Why, dude? I don’t think I ever got that part of my seat back in properly.

The end. That’s the post. I figure if I’m going to write here it’s going to be a lot of random crap, so here you go.

My life has been fucking weird. It’s been challenging in weird ways, both from fate and from my own doing.

My biggest enemy has always been myself. I still have a lot of bad days, some really bad. But the rest of my days have been so much better. It took a lot of years of really hard work, and I will have to fight myself for the rest of my life.

But, I figured out HOW to fight.
And I’m slowly getting better at it.

Beyond that, the people who fate has pushed me in the direction of have mostly been truly wonderful. I’ve been so damned lucky to have people who are willing to fight for me and help me see that I’m worth fighting for. 

Financially, my life has changed in ways that I genuinely never thought would be possible after the questionable choices and moves that I’ve made. I have a job that appreciates me and actually pays me a salary that makes me know I am appreciated. I have a husband who, bless his fucking soul, has pushed me from day one to be better with my money. He has helped keep me grounded, at least as grounded as I ever get.

I am just SO fucking grateful.
I’m so grateful for all of it.

I’m grateful for the forgiveness I’ve been given, the knowledge that I’ve gained, and the love I’ve been shown. I’m grateful for friends who are patient with and kind to me. I’m grateful for the soulmates who have shared their lives with me. I’m grateful for incredible, annoying, smelly, difficult, and otherwise expensive pets who have graced me with their lives into mine. 

So, to everything and everyone who has impacted my life, both good and bad:

THANK YOU.

I can not take credit for this. It has been one of my very favorite things on line since things were first shared in emails instead of faxes. The site I’ve always read it from is a bit hard to see on mobile, so I’m reposting it here for a friend.

I am, for the most part, leaving the original formatting. So please don’t blame me for the ugliness!

 

This was sent to me as is: I make no comments.

 

 

  From: Edward Hume <ehume@pshrink.com> Date: Sun, 21 Nov 1999 20:40:36 -0500 Subj: Dogs in elk ____________________________________________________________

I edited the follow-up thread

The original is here:
http://www.gardenweb.com/forums/load/
party/msg101444109927.html?2 

dogs in elk Posted by Anita z8 Seattle (anita@is2inc.com)  on Fri, Oct 22, 99 at 14:44 The following apparently appeared recently on one of the newsgroups, rec.pets. It sounds pretty believable to me–though it’s so funny, I’m not sure that I care. It’s pretty long, but it’s worth it. ———————

Anne V – 01:01pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1318 of 1332) Okay – I know how to take meat away from a dog. How do I take a dog away from meat? This is not, unfortunately, a joke. 

AmyC – 01:02pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1319 of 1332) Um, can you give us a few more specifics here? 

Anne V – 01:12pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1320 of 1332) They’re inside of it. They crawled inside, and now I have a giant incredibly heavy piece of carcass in my yard, with 2 dogs inside of it, and they are NOT getting bored of it and coming out. One of them is snoring. I have company arriving in three hours, and my current plan is to 1. put up a tent over said carcass and 2. hang thousands of fly strips inside it. This has been going on since about 6:40 this morning. 

AmyC – 01:19pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1321 of 1332) Oh. My. God. What sort of carcass is big enough to hold a couple of dogs inside? Given the situation, I’m afraid you’re not going to be create enough of a diversion to get the dogs out of the carrion, unless they like greeting company as much as they like rolling around in dead stuff. Which seems unlikely. Can you turn a hose on the festivities? 

Ase Innes-Ker – 01:31pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1322 of 1332) I’m sorry Anne. I know this is a problem (and it would have driven me crazy), but it is also incredibly funny. 

Anne V – 01:31pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1323 of 1332) Elk. Elk are very big this year, because of the rain and good grazing and so forth. They aren’t rolling. They are alternately napping and eating. They each have a ribcage. Other dogs are working on them from the outside. It’s all way too primal in my yard right now. We tried the hose trick. At someone elses house, which is where they climbed in and began to refuse to come out. Many hours ago. I think that the hose mostly helps keep them cool and dislodges little moist snacks for them. hose failed. My new hope is that if they all continue to eat at this rate, they will be finished before the houseguests arrive. The very urban houseguests. Oh, god – I know it’s funny. It’s appalling, and funny, and completely entirely representative of life with dogs. 

Kristen R. – 01:37pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1324 of 1332) I’m so glad I read this thread, dogless as I am. Dogs in elk. Dogs in elk. 

Anne V – 01:41pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1325 of 1332) It’s like that childrens book out there – dogs in elk, dogs on elk, dogs around elk, dogs outside elk. And there is some elk inside of, as well as on, each dog at this point. 

Elizabeth K – 01:57pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1328 of 1333) Anne, aren’t you in Arizona or Nevada? There are elk there? I’m so confused! We definately need to see pics of Gus Pong and Jake in the elk carcass. 

Anne V – 02:03pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1329 of 1333) I am in New Mexico, but there are elk in both arizona and nevada, yes. There are elk all over the da*n place. They don’t look out very often. If you stand the ribcage on end they scramble to the top and look out, all red. Otherwise, you kinda have to get in there a little bit yourself to really see them. So I think there will not be pictures. 

CoseyMo – 02:06pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1330 of 1333) “all red;” I’m not sure the deeper horror of all this was fully borne in upon me till I saw that little phrase. 

Anne V – 02:10pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1331 of 1333) Well, you know, the Basenji (that would be Jake) is a desert dog, naturally, and infamous for it’s aversion to water. And then, Gus Pong (who is coming to us, live, unamplified and with a terrific reverb which is making me a little dizzy) really doesn’t mind water, but hates to be cold. Or soapy. And both of them can really run. Sprints of up to 35 mph have been clocked. So. If ever they come out, catching them and returning them to a condition where they can be considered house pets is not going to be, shall we say, pleasant. 

CoseyMo – 02:15pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1332 of 1333) What if you stand the ribcage on end, wait for them to look out, grab them when they do and pull? 

Anne V – 02:18pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1333 of 1333) They wedge their toes between the ribs. And scream. We tried that before we brought the elk home from the mountain with dogs inside. Jake nearly took my friends arm off. He’s already short a toe, so he cherishes the 15 that remain. 

Linda Hewitt – 02:30pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1336 of 1356) Have you thought about calling your friendly vet and paying him to come pick up the dogs, elk and letting the dogs stay at the vets overnight. If anyone would know what to do, it would be your vet. It might cost some money, but it would solve the immediate crisis. Keep us posted. 

ChristiPeters – 02:37pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1337 of 1356) Yikes! My sympathy! When I lived in New Mexico, my best friend’s dog (the escape artist) was continually bringing home road kill. When there was no road kill convenient, he would visit the neighbor’s house. Said neighbor slaughtered his own beef. The dog found all kinds of impossibly gross toys in the neighbor’s trash pit. I have always had medium to large dogs. The smallest dog I ever had was a mutt from the SPCA who matured out at just above knee high and about 55 pounds. Our current dog (daughter’s choice) is a Pomeranian. A very small Pomeranian. She’s 8 months old now and not quite 4 pounds. I’m afraid I’ll break her. 

Lori Shiraishi – 02:38pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1338 of 1356) Bet you could fit a whole lot of Pomeranians in that there elk carcass! Anne – my condolences on what must be an unbelievable situation! 

Anne V – 02:44pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1339 of 1356) I did call my vet. He laughed until he was gagging and breathless. He says a lot of things, which can be summed as *what did you expect?* and *no, there is no such thing as too much elk meat for a dog.* He is planning to stop over and take a look on his way home. Thanks, Lori. I am almost surrendered to the absurdity of it. 

Lori Shiraishi – 02:49pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1340 of 1356) “He is planning to stop over and take a look on his way home.” So he can fall down laughing in person? 

Anne V – 02:50pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1341 of 1356) Basically, yeah. That would be about it. 

AmyC – 02:56pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1342 of 1356) No, there is no such thing as too much elk meat for a dog.” Oh, sweet lo*d, Anne. You have my deepest sympathies in this, perhaps the most peculiar of the Gus Pong Adventures. You are truly a woman of superhuman patience. wait — you carried the carcass down from the mountains with the dogs inside? 

Anne V – 02:59pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1343 of 1356) The carcass down from the mountains with the dogs inside? no, well, sort of. My part in the whole thing was to get really stressed about a meeting that I had to go to, and say *yeah, ok, whatever* when it was suggested that the ribcages, since we couldn’t get the dogs out of them and the dogs couldn’t be left there, be brought to my house. Because, you know – I just thought they would get bored of it sooner or later. But it appears to be later, in the misty uncertain future, that they will get bored. Now, they are still interested. And very loud, one singing, one snoring. 

Lori Shiraishi – 03:04pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1344 of 1356) And very loud, one singing, one snoring. wow. I can’t even begin to imagine the acoustics involved with singing from the inside of an elk. 

Anne V – 03:04pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1345 of 1356) reverb. lots and lots of reverb. 

Anne V – 03:15pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1347 of 1356) I’ll tell you the thing that is causing me to lose it again and again, and then I have to go back outside and stay there for a while. After the meeting, I said to my (extraordinary) boss, “look, I’ve gotta go home for the rest of the day, I think. Jake and Gus Pong are inside some elk ribcages, and my dad is coming tonight, so I’ve got to get them out somehow.” And he said, pale and huge-eyed, “Annie, how did you explain the elk to the clients?” The poor, poor man thought I had the carcasses brought to work with me. For some reason, I find this deeply funny. (weekend pause) 

Anne V – 08:37am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1395 of 1405) So what we did was put the ribcages (containing dogs) on tarps and drag them around to the side yard, where I figured they would at least be harder to see, and then opened my bedroom window so that the dogs could let me know when they were ready to be plunged into a de-elking solution and let in the house. Then I went to the airport. Came home, no visible elk, no visible dogs. Peeked around the shrubs, and there they were, still in the elk. By this time, they had gnawed out some little portholes between some of the ribs, and you got the occasional very frightening glimpse of something moving around in there if you watched long enough. After a lot of agonizing, I went to bed. I closed the back door, made sure my window was open, talked to the dogs out of it until I as sure they knew it was open, and then I fell asleep. Sometimes, sleep is a mistake, no matter how tired you are. And especially if you are very very tired, and some of your dogs are outside, inside some elks. Because when you are that tired, you sleep through bumping kind of noises, or you kind of think that it’s just the house guests. It wasn’t the house guests. It was my dogs, having an attack of teamwork unprecedented in our domestic history. When I finally woke all the way up, it was to a horrible vision. Somehow, 3 dogs with a combined weight of about 90 pounds, managed to hoist one of the ribcages (the meatier one, of course) up 3 feet to rest on top of the swamp cooler outside the window, and push out the screen. What woke me was Gus Pong, howling in frustration from inside the ribcage, very close to my head, combined with feverish little grunts from Jake, who was standing on the nightstand, bracing himself against the curtains with remarkably bloody little feet. Here are some things I have learned, this Rosh Hashanah weekend: 1. almond milk removes elk blood from curtains and pillowcases, 2. We can all exercise superhuman strength when it comes to getting elk carcasses out of our yard, 3. The sight of elk ribcages hurtling over the fence really frightens the nice deputy sheriff who lives across the street, and 4. the dogs can pop the screens out of the windows, without damaging them, from either side. 

Anne V – 09:58am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1401 of 1405) What I am is really grateful that they didn’t actually get the damn thing in the window, which is clearly the direction they were going in. And that the nice deputy didn’t arrest me for terrifying her with elk parts before dawn. 

AmyC – 09:59am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1402 of 1405) Imagine waking up with a gnawed elk carcass in your bed, like a real-life “Godfather” with an all-dog cast. 

Anne V – 10:01am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1403 of 1405) There is not enough almond milk in the world to solve an event of that kind.

  Follow-Up Postings: RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Andrew

 (anitz@bellatlantic.net) on Fri, Oct 22, 99 at 15:18 Edible pet carriers. You might be on to something here.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: suzy (driscolls@y-city.net) on Fri, Oct 22, 99 at 17:07 my daughter’s two big dogs used to carry around dead mummified g’hogs…and thigh bones from butchered cows and the occasional deer. their most fav activity in the whole world was running out the back door in the morning and rolling in cow plops.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Becky the DD (Srac1216@aol.com) on Fri, Oct 22, 99 at 18:55 And I thought my golden retriever was bad for eating the occasional baby bird!

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Dawn (lapplaugh@aol.com) on Wed, Nov 3, 99 at 20:24 Hey, free food for the dogs. We feed our dogs a raw diet, and I wouldn’t have to feed them for MONTHS!!! I just doubt that ours would get along long enough to eat any. My poor husband, working in the other room while I sit here laughing like this. Thanks, I needed a good laugh.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Wally L. Speers (wspeers1@elp.rr.com) on Wed, Nov 3, 99 at 22:49 Ha,ha,ha…I’ll never be able to eat ribs again without thinking of this story. I only hope I don’t choke while thinking about it.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Jeff (mypapi1@aol.com) on Fri, Nov 5, 99 at 17:24 I will go right out and start training my papillon and pomeranian. “No elk. Bad boy! Bad girl! Here’s a treat. No elk. DROP!! DROP!! Good boy and girl”.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Barbara (wenger@msu.edu) on Sun, Nov 7, 99 at 10:37 I got word of this site through our dog behaviour problems list! wonder what the advice for Anne would have been from that forum?

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Anita z8 Seattle (anita@is2inc.com) on Mon, Nov 8, 99 at 12:44 A note to some of those who responded: I am not Anne V. I did not write this. This story was forwarded to me by someone who claims to have found it on the newsgroup rec.pets (as I said at the beginning of the posting). If you want to contact Anne V., I suggest that you go to rec.pets, search for this thread, and get her email address there. Thanks.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Sandy B (sandybeau@webzone.net) on Mon, Nov 8, 99 at 21:07 Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. I got this off a raw diet list, which really makes it funny. Can’t believe none of the Basenji lists have found it yet. They will tonight!!! Maybe they have and haven’t passed it on because it is too much like “just another day with a Basenji” type thing. Only thing I wonder about at this point, was there one or two ribcages? Sometimes it seemed like she was infering each dog had its own cage.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Kay Eldred (keldred@ozdocs.com.au) on Tue, Nov 9, 99 at 1:21 There are no Elk here in Australia but I spent a few years in Canada so know the size of the animal involved. I have had Basenjis for 26 years and this has to be one of the funniest stories I have every read with regard to this wonderful unique breed. Mine have hunted possums snakes and many small creatures – but elk !!

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Andie (skyrket@geocities.com) on Wed, Nov 10, 99 at 12:37 Well.. I have never read anything this funny! It’s jus so good – and so typically “dog”! I never thought anything could be worse than the day my Golden Lab, Lucas, rolled in a very, very dead fox in the mountains and I had to take extremely pongy dog home in car – with windows up coz winter and raining.. but this takes the cake! Thank you so much for sharing it.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Susan (calypso@webcombo.net) on Wed, Nov 10, 99 at 13:52 One of the best dog (let alone basenji) stories ever! Watching the tale unfold was like rubbernecking at an accident site…. you’re horrified, but you just can’t look away… When I got to the part about the dogs breaking into the bedroom with their edible den, THAT’s when I broke up.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Carole DeHart (cbdehart@bigfoot.com) on Wed, Nov 10, 99 at 14:21 ROTFL … this was posted to Rottie-L, a rottweiler discussion group. I thought my rottie went a little overboard when she “vaccumed up” three fledgling blue jays, I can just imagine her with an elk carcass. Yikes! cj RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: AndieP (asenji@earthlink.net) on Wed, Nov 10, 99 at 22:04 So typically basenji. Hilarious, and believable. Basenjis do not know the word impossible…. During the past 28 years I have seen them do some near impossible things. It reminds me of an incident from those long-ago days when I was very new to basenjis and had yet to learn of their exploits. I have a thanksgiving story from the early 70s when I first had basenjis. After dinner when we were all sitting around groaning in the living room, we heard some odd thumps coming from the kitchen. One of the basenjis had stuck his head inside the turkey carcase and was being “helped” by 2 other basenjis who were trying to pull bits off the outside. He was not trying to get the turkey carcase off his head, he was just trying to keep it away from the other basenjis. I had to sit down on the floor I laughed so hard. this was before the days of camcorders so all we got was one still picture of Jet with a “turkey head”. I sent it in to one of the dog magazines but they did not print it, they said it was “too contrived”. Obviously they did not know anything about basenjis. Basenjis will not do anything if it is not their idea.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: vicki (eternalight@hotmail.com) on Wed, Nov 10, 99 at 22:18 not funny. don’t get it. personally would have left dumb dogs and elk in the woods!

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Katherine (Kbwrph54@netins.net) on Thu, Nov 11, 99 at 2:37 This tale reminds me of home butchering time on the farm. This of course had to be done in cold weather. Our farm dogs would bury choice tidbits in snow banks and feast on them for weeks.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Richard Gire (Gire_Richard@smc.edu) on Fri, Nov 12, 99 at 12:31 Man, it sounds like these dogs are a menace. What the hell are you going to feed these dogs after the meat is gone!!! Don’t run out of food and don’t fall down in the yard.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Tabatha (mellowparkakitas@hotmail.com) on Mon, Nov 15, 99 at 20:42 Congratulations your story reached all the way to Australia and it’s just as funny here.

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Joy (jburns6665@aol.com) on Mon, Nov 15, 99 at 23:35 Do you suppose that if the dog groomer saw you coming with the pack for the clean up — would he hurry and put the closed sign on the door?

RE: dogs in elk * Posted by: Judy (judybooth@enterprise.net) on Sat, Nov 20, 99 at 22:03 Well, this has hit the UK ! Thanks !!!! . . . Try reading it with a mouthful of red wine. Like I did 🙂 Judy, England.

HERE ENDETH THE EPISTLE

  Authentication:

The Validity of the Dogs in Elk Story

From http://xenia.media.mit.edu/~solan/dogsinelk/validity.htm

Since publishing the pumpkin version of the Dogs in Elk story, I’ve received dozens of e-mails from people curious about the story’s validity. I’ve also received e-mail from Anne Verchick, owner of the “real” dogs in elk.

I’ve never seen the dogs myself, and I’ve as yet to see a picture of the actual event, but here are some snippets of what Annie had to say. She sent me this 10/28/99:

Hi, Rob – This is Anne Verchick, owner of the dogs in elk. The pumpkin carving is lovely, and, on a smaller, more vegetative scale, really pretty faithful to what was one of the messier experiences of my recent life.

Thanks, and take care. Annie

After a couple of e-mail volleys, I finally mustered up the nerve to ask Annie to attest to the validity of the story. She wrote back:

Rob,

Sure, I can attest. I mean, I can tell you that it really did happen. I can ask a couple of people who stopped by to admire the whole scene to get in touch with you, or give you their email addresses and phone numbers.

Does that help at all? I think that it’s easy for me to lose track of how atypical my dog experiences are, in some ways, because like everyone else, what I compare the world to is my experience.

The thing about the dogs in elk thing is this – with the dogs I have, especially Gus Pong, who is a New Guinea Singing Dog, and a complete freak of primitive dogdom, dogs in elk is in some ways a fairly minor event, in that it involved fewer people than usual. Sharing a house with a very primitive, deeply attached and wildly inspired animal has led me into all sorts of situations I never anticipated as a pet owner.

How dogs in elk began is a little odd, without considerable history – ignore now, if you’re not interested. Gus Pong is a New Guinea Singing Dog – currently, they are classified as a subspecies of Dingo, but what they look like is a cross between a German Shepherd and a Shiba Inu. And he is an incredibly fussy eater. In the highlands, they live as semi-pariah dogs in the villages, and their primary use is for hunting. So, after being unable to find a commercial dog food that he would eat at all, I contacted local game processors and butchers. I lucked out. I found a really nice guy who was willing to give me (since game can’t be sold) trim and bones, which turned out to be something Gus Pong (and my other two dogs, Jake and Stella) thought was just fine. You can see, I am sure, where this is going. They had a rich texan come in, and shoot his tags, and not want the meat. So they did a really rough field dress, and called and asked if I wanted to come pick up about 100 lbs of slabcut elk and so forth. I said sure, and mistakenly put Jake and Gus in the car before driving up. Well, they got out of the car (One of slider windows was cracked, which I didn’t realize) and you know the rest.

The original chain of posts begins here: http://tabletalk.salon.com/webx?14@@.ee90352/1317 which is in TableTalk, a forum at Salon, an ezine that added a webcrossing forum to it. That’s why I am so astonished that it made it all over the web – and really all over. My mother has gotten multiple copies from friends, asking if my dogs are *really* that out of control.

Take care, and let me know if you’d like to speak to someone other than me who was there.

Annie

Continue reading “Dogs in Elk (A Story as Old as the Internet)”

Note: This was originally written around 2017

 

A new friend on Twitter inspired me to write (or, in this case, type) down my feelings on my heritage, blood, and faith. It’s complicated.

When I was born, Mom was Jewish (blood & high-holy-days practice) & Dad was agnostic. Growing up, I chose the Jewish faith. By tradition, it is passed on by your mother. From what we can follow of our family tree, it was also passed along by DNA. I made it up until I was about 12 before the whole thing just seemed silly and overdone to me, and I didn’t want to play anymore. Mom asked me to stick with it through my Bat Mitzvah, which I did, probably extremely begrudgingly. Then I was allowed to bow out. Because it was then up to me, I did still go to temple. It wasn’t that often, and I was much more interested in spending time with the family that I had gathered there than I was in participating in the rituals. I’d spent most weekends with the same kids who were my age from when we were about six until we were all teenagers. It’s no different than how you feel about classmates you spend all of your childhood with. I’m still dear friends with one of them. His birthday is the day before mine, and I consider him my twin brother. I love him and his family like they were blood.

So where does that leave me as an “adult?” Here’s how I feel and what I believe.

I don’t know if there’s a God. I don’t know if there isn’t a God. I have no way of knowing either way. I am a logic, hands-on, experience type of person. I think that there is some sort of power keeping all of life itself going. Could that be God? Sure. Like I said, I have no way of knowing, nor do I pretend to. That being said, I’m not going to continue on with the rituals if I don’t believe in what they stand for.

Except…that’s not completely true. There are certain things that, for one reason or another, have just stuck with me despite my lack of “faith” in the Old Testament. I will not live in a house without a Hand of Miriam. I have two now, actually. I will light the candles and sing the prayer at Hanukkah. On Yum Kippur I will typically eat apples and honey, and on Passover I will typically make myself a batch of Charoset (then eat the whole thing by myself and then regret that so very, very, VERY much). But to me, these things are not faith ritual. To me, they are tradition. They are things that I have done my whole life. They are good, happy, positive memories for me, and I like continuing them.

There’s still that other part of it, though. Like I mentioned, Mom is Jewish by blood. Regardless of either of us practicing, we are both Jews. That’s something that I can never get rid of, and I consider it an extremely important part of my life. It’s weird to a lot of people, but it is what it is.

How do I feel about the Jewish Religion now? I respect it. I understand it like an outsider can’t. I do NOT respect a lot of the misogyny of most of the conservative Jews. The religion, by the book, is just as horrible as any other religion that’s taken word for word by a text, written thousands of years ago, by old men, who were probably on drugs. The congregations I am more drawn to are the ones who are able to see the intended morality lesson from the myths and just do the right things. They don’t treat it as gospel (Sorry for the pun. No, I’m really not sorry at all.).

So there you have it. Nix is a Jew but not a Jew. Like every other part of my life, it’s like a just slightly inappropriate riddle.