What The Hell Is Wrong With The Richmond Fire Department?

Richmond has had seven female firefighters since women were integrated into the fire service in 1995. Seven. Out of 200+ firefighters.

There are currently four female firefighters in this charming little city. None of them are on active duty. Pregnancy? No. Educational leave? No. World travel, entered a convent, got lost in Delta? No.

Try human feces placed in their boots and smeared on their coats and lockers. Try threats to their physical safety, both veiled and overt. Try pornography streamed into their stations via satellite. Try a culture of misogyny, sexual harrassment, human rights abuses and pure hatred.

This is not a case of "the boys' club" not wanting "girls" to enter their fort. This is a case of criminal behaviour by adult men who are sworn to protect their community. What's really horrifying is that many of these men are fathers of daughters, husbands, partners. What is going on behind the closed doors of their homes if they believe this barbarism is appropriate for a public work environment. What are these idiots teaching their sons? And why have they been able to get away with this behaviour for years?

Two of the female firefighters have filed formal complaints; one with the B.C. Human Rights Tribunal, the other with the B.C. Supreme Court. The other two women are on medical leave, and both have filed harassment grievances with their union.

"Those are terrible optics," says Fire Chief Jim Hancock. Really? Ya think?

It is my most fervent hope that every one of the firefighters found to be guilty of this grotesque behaviour loses his job, his pension, and the respect given to firefighters, most of whom are heroes.

2006....right?

When Bad Things Happen To Good People.

I have a friend who is experiencing one devastating event after another, and has been for many months. I don't understand it, karma isn't supposed to work this way. She's smart, generous, kind-hearted and hard-working, she tries to do the right thing, respects the earth, leads by example.....she's one of the good guys. What the hell gives?

There are so many jerks and assholes out there, people who are basically a waste of skin, people who drive drunk, abuse their children, rip off everyone they can, people who can't figure out how to work and play well with others. They seem to lead charmed lives (listening Mr Premier?) stumbling through life climbing over, stepping on, and using anyone and everyone for their own selfish gain. Then there's my friend, who has never knowingly hurt anyone, and who is being battered and bruised from all sides.

She's strong, and she will suvive. It just breaks my heart to watch someone I care about, someone I respect, suffering so many body blows.

Keep your chin up, D. Living well is the best revenge.

Loving An Easy Dog Is Easy. Loving A Hard Dog Is Hard.

My MacKenzie is an enigma. She is a beautiful, comical, overgrown puppy clown. She has been my faithful and loyal companion for six years, ever since she was rescued from a hellish existence as a battered backyard dog.

MacKenzie; however, has a dark side.

Perhaps, as we believe, my sweet girl was kicked in the head once too often as a puppy. It may be natural prey drive. It may just be that she's like everyone else in the world, and has pissy days when she forgets to be the sweetheart I know and love.

MacKenzie, aka "the Shark", has a hate on for dogs smaller than she is. Not always, but too frequently for a multi-dog family, and a family whose life revolves around dogs of all ages, sizes and breeds. MacKenzie has attacked and injured other dogs, on more than one occassion, and will certainly do it again if given the opportunity.

It is my job, as Kenzie's guardian, to ensure that she is safe, and that others are safe around her. We accomplish this with the use of muzzles, baby gates and careful supervision. MacKenzie is on medication to lessen her anxiety, gets plenty of love, attention, exercise, and is fed a raw diet. 90% of the time things are fine.

Until they are not.

This has been a tough week, emotionally, for a lot of reasons. As with most people who live with others, either human, canine or feline, I am sometimes guilty of taking my frustration out on those I love the most. MacKenzie lunged at a smaller dog, and I snapped, telling her that she was going down if she did anything like this one more time.

I have no intention of giving up on my beautiful, damaged girl. She is 90% wonderful, and brings me countless blessings. I was hurt, angry, frustrated and not coping well at all, which is, as it sounds, an excuse for my bad behaviour. I yelled at this loving, trusting animal, scaring her, myself and my family.

I'm sorry, Kenz.

Sir Paul, Go Home.

I hate the seal hunt. It is a gruesome, archaic and revolting practice that turns my stomach. I don't buy into the rhetoric spewed by the East Coast Fishers or the politicians who are required to keep the voters happy, regardless of the stupidity of the statements they make. Nothing will convince me that battering baby seals to death will resurrect the cod fishery. That ship has sailed, me byes, you'll have to find another way to rape the earth in order to make a living.

That being said, I wish Paul McCartney, his child bride, Brigitte Bardot and all their hangers-on would go the hell back to their glass houses. As if there is nothing worth protesting in England or France....I guess race riots aren't worth "celebrity" involvement, if there are no big snowy babies with impossibly large, liquid eyes to harass on camera, there's no point in sticking noses accustomed to rarified air where they are not wanted, needed or welcomed.

Canadians have to take a stand and have this barbaric "hunt" abolished. Note to Sir Paul: We're good, thanks, we don't need your help."

It's 3:00 A.M., Do You Know Where Your Eye Lids Are?

Depression is a bitch.

I'm, of course, not referring to the "oh damn, 24 is a repeat this week" kind of depression. I mean the ugly, all-premeating, I want-to-hurt-someone-mostly-myself-but-I don't-even-have-enough-motivation-to-do-that depression that affects everyone in a depressive's life.

There are days (many, many days) that it takes sheer force of will to get out of bed. I do it because, as much as my dogs love me, they can't "hold it" forever, and they need to get regular exercise, which is my responsibility to provide. I do it because I love my family, because I have a job, because that's what "normal" people do.

"Normal" is a loaded word. I know it isn't normal to have black thoughts 24/7, to be awake for days at a time, feel totally out of step with the world, and work what seems like 100 times harder to accomplish things that others seem to do without effort. Like "playing nice". Like being social. Like not flying into internalized rage/hatred/self-doubt/fear over minor annoyances.

I come from a place where put up and shut up meant survival.It didn't matter whether wounds were visible or invisible, nobody was allowed to know. I was considered "moody" and "difficult", two qualities that brought me a world of hurt. I hated that I couldn't give my family what they wanted, and that they couldn't understand that I was trying, but it was hopeless. Eight year old children should not attempt suicide. Enough said.

Now there are "wonder drugs" that even out those with Bi-Polar disorder, animate those of us with depression, calm the anxiety ridden, and provide us with that all-important facade of normal. Except they only go so far. I still can't sleep without what I consider heavy medication. I'm tired all the time. I have friends who don't sleep, don't eat, sleep all the time, eat non-stop, overcompensate, engage in risky behaviours, self harm, disengage from reality, abdicate responsibility, shut out the world, scare their families, lose their jobs, try hard to kill themselves.....

I'm off to the Shrink this week to deal with the cesspool that is my depression. I'm tired of living the way I do, I'm tired of being tired. I love my partner with everything I am, but there are ways that I can't express that love. I want to get a handle on the multi-faceted demons in my head. I want to find out which of my "issues" are illness, and which are me just being a jerk.

And I want off Wellbutrin! Anti-depressents with smiley faces on them make me feel homocidal. Which mental midget decided to add insult to injury?

Shalom.

Piper is Pissed.

What?! Finally getting back to the blogging habit, and my first "new" post wasn't about "the Pug"? Heads will roll.

Our newest family member is a now-almost-four-month-old Pug named Piper (or "little Pugger", "Pipes", "Puglet", or "Peanut"). She's a fawn and black hellion, the canine bride of Satan. She fits in perfectly.

Pipes is a funny little dog. She's very adept at helping me undress, especially with removing my socks. The only fly in the ointment is that she wants to undress my feet while I am trying to get the socks on. Piper also has a thing for dish towels.....I'd hate to label it a fetish at her tender age, but if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and has feathers like a duck.....well....She's as full of joy as any puppy I have ever met, and she brings smiles to even the most dedicated dog-hating cat person. She's afraid of loud noises, balloons and nothing else. She is the new bane of Chunky's existance, drags poor Clio around the floor by her tail, makes Madison even more determined to slit her paws, but Kirby adores her. This is not a case of a well-socialized adult dog putting up with a puppy. This is love. Kirby plays with Piper, cuddles her, lets her take toys and food from him. As if we needed another reason to love Kirby.....

MacKenzie wants to eat the baby, but that's another blog topic.

I now get to come home from work to a nine pound dynamo with a permanent case of the zoomies. She races around so fast that she (regularly) loses her footing (would that be 'pawing'?) and wipes out, then starts all over again. Cute doesn't even begin to describe it.

Christine is in absolute love with this cuddly, inquisitive, mischievious little chicken slut (she is one of our dogs after all). They play this dopey game called "shark attack"; one has to see it to appreciate it, and I think Piper pretends to enjoy it to make sure Chris' feelings don't get hurt. They are very much in tune with one another, the love they share is palpable.


She's a force of nature, our wee Puglet.

Long Time, No Words.

What a difference a few months can make in the complacent little world of a blogger. Death of a beloved family member, injury, illness....sometimes the earth seems to shift on its axis, shaking up all that we know to be true and right.

We lost our Jasmine on January 8, 2006. To say that we were, and remain devastated is a gross understatement. She was a Shih Tzu among Shih Tzus, our Rottweiler in a Shihthead's body. She was magical and she was adored, and our hearts have been rendered by her death.

I sustained a nasty injury to my knee a week before Christmas, and thanks to a health care system that is neither healthful nor caring, I have yet to see the surgeon. I need to see him before I can become number 11 989 on the provincial orthopedic surgery wait list. I fully understand why those with the financial ability to do so become queue jumpers and go to private clinics. Would that I could.I have been wearing a very expensive, very uncomfortable brace for months. I call it my bionic leg, it is the reason I am still mobile.

The stress of our loss, the injury, illnesses being suffered by the two people who mean most to me, job stress, anxiety, sleeplessness, depression and a total lack of motivation have kept me from the keyboard, but I see the shrink next Friday, Christine and I are going on our first real vacation ever, and there is far too much crap going on in the world to remain silent any longer.

Stephen and the Harpies won the federal election, after a fashion. The country has gone from Mr. Dithers to Ned Flanders. We're doom diddly doomed girls and boys.

I'm baaaaaaaaaack. Duck!