Keira-anne.com

If you were to ask me what I love most about blogging, it is the opportunity it provides to share information, invoke thought and open up lines of communication between people that otherwise might never interact with each other. I’m entirely grateful that I have a slice of the internet to call my own. Blogging can be a catalyst for discussion and forward-thinking ideas but it can also slide very quickly in the other direction.

A little more than a week ago, I published a post entitled “Numbers“, designed as a simple fact-blast. Several days later, I received the following comment on that post:

“What about all the children in the world that are homeless or mistreated? It’s seems very trendy these days to focus so much attention on the well-being and wardrobes of pets, dogs in particular. Sure, dogs are great, but why do people personify them to be more than they are, which is in fact animals. Seems rather self-indulgent, if you ask me.“

My instant reaction was to hit the delete button. The label of “self-indulgent” quickly stung like a bee and, on the whole, I felt discouraged. In truth, the comment caused me to question why I am even trying to raise funds for the BC-SPCA. I considered that perhaps my personal effort is a waste.

Something about the comment lingered with me for days after as it sat in my WordPress trash can. The author of that comment had a valid point: what about the children of the world? Yes, what about them? Do I feel that the welfare of animals is of greater importance than that of the children of the world? Absolutely not. So does that mean that the welfare of animals is unimportant? Again, absolutely not.

You and I are unalike. We are different people with different backgrounds, different passions, different families and different goals. We each have our personal and public beliefs and because we are each individual, we aren’t required to justify ourselves to the world around us. The dissimilar passions of people, in general, is what makes society work. Whether we advocate for the safety and well-being of children, aggressively push to end homelessness in our communities, raise funds for cancer research, promote green and sustainable living for the planet or speak for animals that have no voices, each of us is a crucial link in the chain of philanthropy. And though we may feel less fervor about one cause and more passionate about another, none of us has the right to judge that any one is unimportant.

My attempt to raise funds for the BC-SPCA is not fueled by self-indulgence. It isn’t my hope than animals will become especially personified or that we’ll adorn them in adorable wardrobes. The suffering, abuse and neglect of animals in British Columbia is far more rampant than the majority of people will ever realize. While it is certainly not at the top of the charity food chain, nor should it supersede the dire needs of humans, it is still a need nonetheless. Were it not for the BC-SPCA, and SPCA branches around North America, I fear to think what our society would look like.

Dogs don’t need chic jackets, cats don’t require shiny bells jingling around their necks and farm animals can do without luxe barns. However, they do require – and deserve – to live free from harm and violence, in care and in love. The BC-SPCA is not funded by the government that you voted for (or against). In fact, little more than 1% of taxpayer dollars cover shelter costs and abuse investigations. That, my friends, is why I am raising funds.

In less than three weeks, I’ll be walking with Jordy and Charley and standing up to declare that I believe our Province’s animals deserve to be treated in fairness and dignity. If your passion is for something other than animals, then I encourage you to donate to that charity and take a stand in what you believe is right. If you believe in the fair and dignified treatment of animals, then please consider donating to the BC-SPCA – even if it’s the change you scrounge from your couch cushions.

While it’s true I hope to see money poured into what I believe in, what I wish to see even more is people taking a stand for what is it they feel passion for and getting active within that passion.

“I know a girl…
She puts the colour inside of my world.”
- John Mayer, “Daughters”

Just shy of 10 years ago, I met Ashley. Like moths to a flame, blondes are seemingly drawn to each other. Ashley and I were no exception. While our mutual love of ice cream paved the way, it took no time at all for she and I to realize the capacity of deep love we each had for the other.

She has since become one of my strongest, wisest and most genuine friends – one that has endured through many phases of my life (and many phases of her own life). Ashley has that selfless and infectious spirit that most of us can only aspire to have one day. To be able to call her a friend is a true blessing.

As another year full of achievements and adventures has passed, I wish my Ashley the happiest of birthdays. Here’s sending you all the kisses, hugs, ice cream cones (and a few little licks from Jordy) on your birthday. Here is to celebrating everything that you are and everything that you mean to those who love you.

I have traveled very little in my 20-something years. There are no exotic stamps on my passport, no photos exist of me posing in front of pyramids or the Eiffel Tower and I have yet to cross either the Pacific or Atlantic oceans. However, unbeknown to me, I only needed to cross to the other side of North America to experience culture of the international variety.

While Vancouver is celebrated as a virtual melting pot of ethnicity, it’s still relatively young. There are brownstone homes in Brooklyn that are older than this city. New York City, originally founded as New Amsterdam, was first settled in the early-to-mid 1600s and has since grown into a city that straddles the precipice between cosmopolitan and historical. So many city blocks are completely saturated with what once was and still is.

Nowhere does that seem more true than Little Italy. Wednesday, May 26th was a hot day – a day with the kind of heat that feels like a solid substance wrapping itself in and around your body. Rebecca and I donned slim-strapped sandals, barely-there dresses and gathered the hair off the back of our necks. It was necessary for survival. I love that kind of heat.

Photo: miss604 on Flickr

We wove our way through narrow city streets in Lower Manhattan – the very first part of the city that was settled upon – and found ourselves in the middle of the bustling Chinatown district. Famished from walking and desperate for substance in our stomachs, Rebecca and I diverted onto Mulberry Street. Blink and perhaps you’ll miss Little Italy, a neighbourhood that’s gradually become so small yet is bursting at the seams with dignity in its roots.

It’s overwhelming. A street that at one time served as the centre of the blood-soaked Five Points neighbourhood was now lined with brick veneers, fire escapes, colourful awnings scribed in Italian, delivery trucks providing everything from prosciutto to tomato sauce and flags flying with red, white and green. Older men bellowed at each other from across the street, wiping their hands on their aprons. Younger men bantered jokes in a language so fast and so beautiful that it mesmerized me. Tourists on the sidewalk noshed on cannolis and gelato.

We selected a restaurant on the west side of the block, choosing to sit on the sidewalk and soak in our surroundings. Rebecca and I pushed our chairs in under the red and white checkered table cloth, my back bumping up against a flower box occupied with scarlet-coloured geraniums. I ordered a glass of house pinot noir and then fell in love.

My man couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than me. Save for a few broken phrases in English, it was clear that he spoke only Italian. My man’s white shirt was chiseled around his torso and tucked into black pants that appeared to be nothing short of expertly tailored. His undershirt was traceable under his long sleeves and even in that 95-degree heat, my man didn’t break a sweat. His eyes were playful but his expression was stern and concentrated. When he wasn’t refilling our water glasses, my man was coolly leaning on a nearby parking meter with a cigarette posed between his bow-tie lips. I was infatuated and unable to look anywhere else.

There on Mulberry Street, in the middle of intense heat and thrust into old-world Italy in the middle of Manhattan, I recognized that some things never change. Forever known for their remarkable dishes, perfected wine and searing passion, the Italians also have not lost their knack for invoking love at first sight either.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Having a pet in one’s life is something that can be incredibly rewarding. The unconditional love they offer springs from trust, appreciation and fierce loyalty. One of the most difficult parts of being a “pet parent” is when your animal is unwell or injured. Unlike a child that can tell you their tummy hurts or that they’ve stubbed their baby toe, a dog or cat will just get lazy all the while staring up at you with fearful eyes and dilated pupils. What’s wrong is anyone’s guess.

Around the middle of last week, Jordy started to display a behavior known as “scooting”, where he’d plunk his butt on the ground, lift his hind legs and propel himself forward with his front paws. Add to this the fact that I’d take him outside and he’d sit on the concrete rather than pee when it was time to go to bed, I knew something was wrong. By Friday morning, I felt a lump on his rump that was accompanied by some seepage. It was time to call the vet.

I always trust the great people at Yaletown Pet Hospital to deliver the best possible care to Jordy, so I was disheartened to learn their next available appointment was a week away. I stressed the severity of the situation and the fact that I suspected an infection, so they managed to squeeze an appointment in that very afternoon.

After a few minutes with Dr. Spooner, I soon learned that Jordy’s minor irriation was, in fact, a bacterial abscess on his rear end – likely caused by something he sat in or on. The sudden abscess was the size of a green grape under his skin and, left untreated, was likely to rupture outwards. My little guy was in obvious pain and discomfort which did nothing short of break my heart. After a quick expression (Google) to relieve some of the pressure, we were sent on our way with two weeks’ worth of antibiotics, painkillers and anti-inflammatory medication. I had instructions to hold a hot compress to Jordy’s behind four or five times a day to hopefully bring the swelling down and avoid a rupture. Should it reach that point, surgical lancing would be required.

It’s been four days and Jordy’s world has changed immensely. His rear end no longer looks like a battleground and instead has healed almost miraculously. The medications combined with rest and extra snuggle time has made all the difference for him. He’s back to playing, running, cuddling and generally acting like a little monkey.

Sometimes it’s really difficult to make decisions on my own regarding the health and welfare of my furry loved one. There’s no sounding board to hear me out, nor someone to tell me to chill if I’m overreacting. However, even a minute in pain and suffering is too much in my opinion, so it’s better to be safe than sorry. I want to thank the amazing staff at Yaletown Pet Hospital for not only taking my concerns seriously and finding a solution to Jordy’s ailment, but also for offering him the very best care he deserves. YPH is most certainly a prime example of how to treat your clients and customers – something I think we could all use a little bit more of.

Photo: BC-SPCA Biscuit Fund

In 2004, a scruffy but lovable dog named Biscuit was found wandering local streets. He’d been abused and repeatedly stabbed but somehow managed to drag himself into a garage. After being found by a family and rushed to an area veterinarian, Biscuit was nursed back to health through emergency care. The BC-SPCA created the Biscuit Fund in honour of this resilient little guy to raise funds for other sick and injured homeless animals.

March is ‘Sponsor A Cat Month’ with the Biscuit Fund. Donations are the primary funding source for all aspects of the BC-SPCA and the need for emergency animal care is steadily rising. In fact, the money spent in 2008 exceeded $2.4 million dollars. If you’d like to donate, please visit the BC-SPCA’s Biscuit Fund website. 100% of the donations are used to help the animals and are entirely tax-deductible. If you’d like to take a peek at some of the animals that have been helped by the Biscuit Fund, head on over to their Flickr site.

Pet overpopulation is a huge problem within British Columbia and around the world. When bringing a new cat, dog or other companion animal into your home, please give strong consideration to adopting from an animal shelter or rescue organization. There are countless animals waiting for your love and affection, and the more animals we bring into our homes, the less animals we’ll find fending for their lives on the street.

For the first time in all my years, I’ve begun to realize what Christmas shouldn’t be about. As a child, it’s fun to indulge in the Santa Claus tale, but for whatever reason, that tradition has kept on rolling in my family.

The thought struck me the other day that if it’s Jesus’ birthday we’re celebrating, why do I still get a truckload of gifts at this time of year? It makes zero sense to me as someone who celebrates Christmas based on its true origin, and I’m really not doing much of anything to honour that. However, sometimes it’s too little, too late, but I am dead-set on making huge changes next Christmas and throughout the coming year in this regard.

Photo: jenny downing (r&r) on Flickr

I think that the best gift we can give our families and our friends at this time of year, with or without money, is not presents but presence. There is nothing more I am looking forward to than being with my family, laughing joyfully with them, eating food that’s been lovingly prepared, putting good mileage on my stretchy pants, drinking wine, resting my body, resting my mind and making memories. I’m sure I’ll manage to squeeze some SNES in there too.

To all of you, my friends and readers, I want to wish you the very best that this season has to offer you – no matter what or why you’re celebrating. Be there with and for the people you love and the people you have yet to love. Bring it all back to the place it should be about.

Every girl should have a brother. If not to protect her when she’s older, then definitely to terrorize her when she’s younger.

Sweet and nearly angelic as a toddler, Trevor and I were extremely close right from the start. I wasn’t even the kind of sister that made him play dress-up. Usually it was just building blanket-and-pillow forts under the dining table, creating mud pies, swinging on monkey bars and trying to out-do each other at constructing the most stellar of Lego houses.

My brother was the ultimate “shit disturber” as he got older, as so affectionately called by my Oma. I’m sure she said it in German, so he was none-the-wiser.

I’m quite sure his pinched-cheek smile was incredibly calculated to off-set all the ways in which he delighted in causing my temper tantrums. Though can you blame me? When he wasn’t drawing, um… poo, with a jiffy marker on my ceramic piggy bank, he was sneaking into my bedroom and slapping stickers on the faces of all my pin-ups. (I do apologize for that, Patrick Swayze… and Joey MacIntyre, Bono, Simon LeBon and all your friends.)

And sometimes people grow up. While a few years ago if I thought I’d ever have any kind of relationship with Teenage Mutant Ninja Trevor someday, I’d have said no. Never did I imagine he’d become one of my best friends.

Today he is every bit the man I’d always hoped he’d become. Always brother and son, but now also husband and father. That’s still a bit of a trip to think about.

While time has passed and much has changed in both our lives, some things will always remain: such as his undying love for Venkman, Spengler, Stantz and Zeddmore, the way he still eats his Honey Nut Cheerios out of a casserole dish and his uncanny knack for busting out fart jokes at the most inappropriate of times.

It’s amazing to me to consider that today he celebrates his 25th birthday. While I wish more than anything I could be with him to chow down on DQ ice cream cake and beer, I’m instead thinking about all the more milestones and memories to come between brother and sister. I couldn’t be more proud of him.

Today is a very special day.

My lovable, sweet-as-pie, kind-as-candy and darling friend Ashley is celebrating her birthday.

Friends for nearly a decade, there aren’t a lot of adventures we haven’t been on. We’ve ridden roller coasters, drank wine stashed in thermoses in the park, soaked in the Banff hot springs in matching bikinis, eaten most likely litres of Island Farms ice cream, talked under the stars, clung to each other during horror films and consumed our combined weight in Cupcakes. Ashley has even been a motherly hand to hold at the dentist’s office when I got an abscess on vacation.

What I love most about my “sister” – besides our uncanny knack to dress alike without even planning on it – is her unconditional love. No matter how different our viewpoints or opinions or thoughts are, she’s always there to love and respect me. Ashley is one of the few people I can be my true self with because she does not judge.

This past Sunday was our third anniversary. Jordy and I have spent the last three months together, though it actually feels more like three years. I was forewarned of his potential issues, but my little Mango Monkey (he gets that nickname based on the way he smells after a bath) has done nothing short of constantly amaze me with his resiliency and ability to adapt.

The best part of it all is seeing his true personality start to shine now that he’s become truly comfortable with his “mommy”. Jordy loves to wake me up just moments before my alarm with a few kisses and some burrowing under my pillow. He truly loves to cuddle. Surprisingly, he does well with kids and is even gentle with sweet Sienna-bear. Jordy can’t get enough peanut butter and knows the Jif jar when I bring it out of the cupboard without a word. The little guy plays somethin’ fierce with his squeaky toys and shows no shame in farting around me – a lot.

Few people know this about him, but sadly, his first owner had him de-barked as a very young puppy. The sounds he made when he first came into my home were nothing above a whimper, but now he really tries to communicate with his voice and he’s built up quite a sound for himself. It’s my hope that he’ll learn to truly bark once again.

And lastly, if you’ve met Jordy, you know he’s an introverted dog. He’s not afraid of other dogs, but initially he never, ever interacted with them. We’ve been visiting dog parks several times a week and even found one that tends to be frequented by other pomeranians. Very cautiously he’s beginning to leave my side to go and interact, and I have no doubt he’ll be running and rolling on the grass with the rest of them in no time!

I can’t even begin to tell you how much joy he brings into my life on a daily basis and how lucky I feel to have found him. Check out Jordy’s set on Flickr for more pictures snapped last night at the park.

Sometimes it’s still strange to see my baby brother with a baby of his own…