The election of Donald Trump has shaken a large (perhaps the majority – since more people actually voted for Hillary Clinton) part of the population.
One faction affects me personally — Hillary had promised to be a champion for people with disabilities. (Trump makes fun of them.)
I watched the voting numbers, while my hopes of talking to my sister Amanda, who has Down syndrome and is basically being held hostage by her guardian, sank into the sea of despair.
(Full Definition of hostage. 1 a : a person held by one party in a conflict as a pledge pending the fulfillment of an agreement b : a person taken by force to secure the taker’s demands. 2 : one that is involuntarily controlled by an outside influence.)
I admit I joined a legion of folks who spent part of Wednesday in tears.
Loki, the dog with ears like the Flying Nun, has a new
sister. Freya is a German shepherd that was picked up on a road somewhere. She
was thin but obviously a well-bred shepherd, rich red and black in color, with
the conformation of a working show true German line. After a month’s time and a
hard search, the rescuer didn’t find the owner and Freya became available for
adoption. My friends went to see her and decided to bring her home, to learn
that besides the looks, Freya had the pushy German shepherd attitude, too. Even
though the dogs weigh about the same, Loki had to fall back when the treats
came out. She would shove her way between him and the new owners to snarf up
the cookies. The same thing happened with his toys: Freya would just grab
whatever he was playing with and carry it away. If Loki chased her or tried to
get it back, Freya would run into her crate with the toy, guard it, and growl.
When I showed up that day to visit and see the new addition, the adoptive dog parent Lyn said, “I’m not sure we are going to keep her. Loki just isn’t himself when she’s around.”
I looked at Loki, his ridiculous ears at half-mast but still
standing flared out from his head like a character from a Gremlins film. His
eyes showed resignation. I held up a treat. He looked at it sadly. I offered it
to him, and in came Freya like a furry missile: CHOMP! And it was gone.
“No!” Lyn shouted, “That’s for Loki!” But Freya just smiled
with her happy pointed teeth as she crunched down the cookie. Crunch, crunch.
“Loki just seems so sad. I don’t think he is happy with this
addition at all,” Lyn sighed.
It wasn’t too much later; perhaps an hour, that I heard a
bunch of thumping and growling in the living room. I looked around the corner
and Loki was rassling with Freya in a waggy-tail tongue-lolling
Evidently, things weren’t as bad as they seemed.
Lyn handed me a box of treats and the dogs came running and
sliding to plunk themselves in front of me. Loki hung back a little. I held up a treat. “Freya, wait. This is for
Freya lunged for it. But the treat disappeared into my closed
fist. “You have to wait,” I told her again. She sat back a moment in confusion,
and I said, “Good!” and gave it to her.
Loki stood by watching while Freya had a lesson in patience.
Again and again, I asked Freya to wait, and when she sat still and just
watched, I awarded her the treat. Finally, it was Loki’s turn. I called his
name. He was reluctant, creeping forward as Freya restrained herself. But he
earned one. “Good, Freya!” I said, immediately giving her one of her own.
The name recognition game went back and forth for awhile.
Pretty soon Freya was so tuned in to her own identity, and Loki’s, that when
she dropped her treat and Loki grabbed it, she looked at me, aghast! That was HER
treat. She earned it! She received two as a bonus.
Just through this gentle reward system, Freya learned better
manners in only one session. She learned to sit quietly and wait her turn. She
was even waiting at the door.
It happened just from waiting for the good behaviors, and
focusing only on those. When putting energy into positive results, the negative
ones fell away.
It occurred to me that maybe I could apply this theory to all things in life.
Over the course of the past several weeks I have learned a couple of things about myself.
I crave violence in entertainment.
I like things to stay the same, and if they work, I don’t get tired of them.
I use the term “violence” loosely when it comes to entertainment. What I might really mean is, “action.”
My play, “Murder on the Intrepid” is a comedy/murder mystery, set up as a dinner theatre. The show takes place on a cruise ship, whose characters are a cross between Star Trek and The Love Boat. The show first staged by the Brighton Players about ten years ago. The cast centers around a couple enjoying their 40th wedding anniversary. I named them Sam and Donna Ledy, as an inside joke to my parents, because the Ledys were their best friends and I was sure my folks would attend the stage premier of one of my plays. Unfortunately, they didn’t make it.
However, my sister Amanda did. She was righteously offended by my characterization of Donna, because I wrote her as belligerent and unkind, the polar opposite of the real person. “Donna Ledy never acts that way!” Amanda hissed at me during rehearsal.
Anyway, in the show, Donna is mean to everyone and ends up getting offed. Unfortunately she has been so rude to all the other cast members that there is no immediate suspect. The cast includes, among others, Captain Kirk and a couple of goofy lounge singers named Sunny Delight and Chiquita Banana. And there are the Ledy’s adult children, Scotty, and Cindy, the seasick daughter who wears an orange life vest in every scene.
When my friend Anne approached me about a group for a Livingston County Nonprofit called the Second Chance Support Network doing the show, I pulled out the script and looked at it for the first time in years. Reading the lines took me directly back to the original cast so clearly that I could hear their voices shouting the words.
To my surprise, in the first few minutes of the show, I had my Donna Ledy character getting into a fist fight with the Chiquita Banana Mexican Belly Dancer. I mean a serious fight! Rolling around on the floor, Donna yanking out a big hunk of Chiquita’s hair, the whole shebang.
Later, Scotty grabs his sister and tries to yank the life jacket off of her. “Why are you wearing that? You look ridiculous! Take it off! Take it off right now!”
In the Second Chance rehearsals, I thought all these encounters were way too tame. I wasn’t the director, I was only there to support the group. But I found myself yelling, “More violence! More violence!”
The original script is peppered with bawdy humor, and since a church group was taking over, it was heavily redacted. I was kinda uncomfortable with this. I thought it wouldn’t be as funny… It was just way too tame. Not enough violence, not enough sleaze, and Donna wasn’t nearly mean enough. But this group was comprised of people who weren’t actors. They were just regular people meeting to help a cause. So I kept my opinions to myself.
However, I secretly thought the show wouldn’t be very good. I yearned for the original Captain, my friend Paul Rice who could emote William Shatner like nobody’s business. I longed for the dancing talent of my original Woodchuck character, Matt Moore. And of course, I was the first Sunny Delight. I had written her for myself; a washed-up lounge singer, holding on to the last shreds of her youth, who actually couldn’t carry a tune.
But to my surprise, the new group pulled it off. They put their own spin on the show. They even added some new jokes that were really funny! They raised thousands of dollars for their cause, and they staged my show in the swanky Crystal Gardens ballroom. And they had a blast doing it. How can you top that?
And maybe best of all – they have raised the Intrepid! Who knows where it will sail next?
Arthur is a German Shepherd and a social clod. He’s big and clumsy and he wets on the floor when he gets too excited or scared. He will jump on people. He is boisterous and exuberant.
Arthur is a year old. But mentally he is about 5 months of age. Arthur is a special needs case who has had to return to kindergarten and learn how to be a puppy.
My blog has covered a lot of Arthur’s early training and how he behaved when I first got him. He was terrified of virtually everything. When approached by a stranger he would back up barking and sometimes even literally fall down in fear. He was reminiscent of a child with autism in the way he reacted to noise, including engine noise from automobiles and other common sounds.
Although it is the usual go-to explanation in the case of a dog who reacts fearfully, Arthur was never beaten or abused. Indeed the family who purchased him from the breeder was at a loss over what to do with him and his inexplicable depressed behavior. They had tried classes — where in the instructor had them place a prong collar on his neck and then drag him along the floor when he collapsed — a terrible experience for any puppy. (NO puppy should have to wear a prong!) Arthur’s owners didn’t like the way this was headed, and to their credit they kept trying multiple trainers before a friend called me in. They wanted Arthur to come to my puppy boot camp so I could fix this terrified, vomiting puppy, and I was given two weeks to do it.
After having Arthur for 2 weeks I realized that he should not go back to the home because he had a genetically programmed, deep seated fear response that could manifest in aggression. He required a lot of special handling. He couldn’t walk down the street or through the store without barking at everyone we met.
My goal with Arthur over the following months was to build his confidence. This was the most important thing that could be instilled in this dog, because fear is what was driving most of his behavior. I logged much of his progress on my blog.
He became my full-time job. My goal was to not only save his life, but offer him some quality of life. His owners gladly relinquished him to me when they were presented with a list of daily activities that his condition demanded. Their hearts were in the right place but it was just too much for a normal family to handle.
Arthur was taken under the wing, albeit reluctantly, of my border collie, Til and my other dog, an older mixed lab named Jasper. He lived with three smaller dogs as well, in a big eclectic canine family.
In the following months Arthur visited stores and shops and many other public places. His contact with people was carefully monitored to orchestrate a positive experience on each occasion. I spent the summer teaching him to swim. He was afraid of the feeling of his feet leaving the lake bottom. He didn’t understand how to chase a ball, but thanks to the example of my other dogs he learned how to play.
He enjoyed a lot of freedom during those months. We went for daily runs in the field. We walked in and out through doors that scared him. We went on stairs and elevators. We faced countless boogeyman, every day, for months. He worked hard. He learned to come when he was called, every time. He learned to stay when he was told and wait patiently. He learned a couple of fun tricks.
His training was geared toward confidence. Not precision obedience. He never had to plod around a boring ring and have his neck jerked. He knew all the basics — sit, down, and to not pull on the leash when walking. But he was allowed to remain happy and buoyant and even on the verge of euphoria most of the time.
It has taken me eight months to get Arthur to the point of where he is confident enough to go up to anyone. Now he’s at about the five month age level, mentally. He will always be a special needs dog.
I received some criticism because Arthur is skinny and he doesn’t look or act like his littermates. All the littermates have their ears up, are enjoying a comfortable lifestyle and tipping the scales at a robust 80 + pounds.
Arthur is not like his littermates. He just got over a bout with a tapeworm — probably from eating fly eggs in horse poop. He’s had zero couch time. He is solid muscle from running and swimming and maintaining active days over 8 months. While he’s received a fair measure of discipline, (no chasing horses or cats, no barking and running up to people who come to the house, etc) he doesn’t know how to behave inside, because he’s had to stay in a crate due to the urinating.
A couple of weeks ago, Arthur rolled Jasper, puncturing his neck in a completely unprovoked act that was vicious and deadly. I put Arthur in the van to take him to the vet to be euthanized. But looking at that goofy face, well… I decided to instead return him to the source, his breeder, in hopes that her experience with the bloodline and handling in a controlled environment will give him a future with some quality of life. It’s possible that he’s acting out as a bully during his delayed growth phase. But the congenital undercurrent is always there.
It was a heartbreaking decision and not one I have taken lightly.
I’m not going to bash formal obedience training or working with dogs in a classroom setting. On the contrary! Any quality time spent with your dog is always a good thing! However…
A classroom obedience regimen does not always translate to the real world. If you have a dog that does a perfect recall and a beautiful sit and a lovely stand for examination inside a building, that’s wonderful. But would you be able to pull that dog away from a running deer or rabbit with just the sound of your voice? The biggest question is what happens with the dog if he gets off the leash.
If your dog is going to mature around a hundred pounds and has a congenital fear aggression problem, then he is a liability and you damn well better be sure that you can call him back.
A dog who will listen to you under the most extreme of circumstances is a dog that can go into the classroom and easily learn all the formal stuff. The reverse is not always true.
Arthur hasn’t spent much time walking in circles in a classroom. He might jump up in greeting or be a little too exuberant in his manner. He’s had no formal training. But he will come back from a running rabbit for me. He’s come a long, long way up from a darkness that was no fault of his own.
Even if you don’t believe in God or a higher power, you can rest assured that intentional acts of hatred come from energy. People who fuel this type of hateful energy have it come back on them in a myriad of ways. It can make them physically ill.
Don’t waste your time on revenge. People who would do harm to the helpless, two animals and to the disadvantaged are already wreaking their own inner damage.
Instead, focus on what you want to create. Put your energy into building something wonderful. Do good. Teach. Make art. If you stay focused you can succeed… and even after you forget all about them, those who tried to do you harm will be watching as you rise.
We are all Dog TV. That’s all we are. We are clipping hangnails, checking our phones, sweeping down that elusive cobweb in the bathroom ceiling corner. What is the dog doing? Watching us.
Is it any wonder that the cognitive skills of dogs are off the charts? We don’t even know how much they understand, but we wager it’s a lot more than they are given credit for. On the flip side, though, think of the effort a dog has to go through to communicate with us. When it comes to speaking Dog, most of us are hopelessly stunted. Therefore, it is up to the dog to communicate, through what can only be described as charades, to try to tell us what he needs.
I never witnessed this more clearly than through a Great Pyrenees named Zoey whom I was fortunate enough to spend a couple of days with. Her owner said that she can’t catch Zoey, that she doesn’t come when called. When she put Zoey out on the line, I got a great example of what she was talking about. Zoe becomes a dodging whirlwind, edging close and then dashing away at the last minute. She is an expert. If she were ever to get off the leash, you would be spending the whole day chasing her and maybe finally calling in someone with a big enough net.
Her food drive is at an all-time low. She is tentative and carefully smells even the most delicious tidbits of fish, chicken or whatever, even after fasting for a day.
It took me a little while to figure out what Zoey was really trying to say. She is a young dog, about three, and she lives with a baby Newfoundland about a year old named Marley. When given a chance, Zoey will roll and chew on Marley.
The two dogs are highly compatible and I was able to play them off each other. In observing Marley’s new trick of learning to lie down for a treat, Zoe started offering up the same behavior. She would crunch down the treat as well. The two dogs were crated separately in huge cages in a spare bedroom. As the day wore on, I saw that Zoey would start her dodging behavior when it came time to go back in the crate.
We worked on coming close for a treat, allowing herself to be caught, touching her collar, handling her head and neck before earning the treat. But it turned out that what she really needed was management. More play time. More outdoor time. More fun in life. She would take treats if they were offered as part of a training ritual. If offered for free, she mostly scorned them.
What Zoey craves most is social interaction. As the days wore on, we developed a routine of short leash walks, training games, play time with Marley, and more time in the house to just lie around and be in human company. When it came time to go back in the crate, she was offered a couple of big cookies for going in. At the end of the third day, she was going back in the crate on her own. Like everyone, Zoey just wants to be part of the action — and she was saying it as loudly as she could.
On the first day I met her I started teaching her to touch a target. I didn’t have my regular horse Target stick so I used my dog’s chuckit as a substitute.
Flo is an Arabian mare who was abused by a person who had been hired to train her. She came home emaciated and upset, and so shell shocked that no one could touch her head. The farrier went into the stall with her and tried to put the halter on and she spun around in circles so he couldn’t reach her head.
On the second day she came up to me in the field but then ran off, so we brought her into the stall, using the other mare as a guide.
She liked the Target Training pretty well although she was still goosey about her ears and head.
On the third day, she watched me pull up into the driveway and get out of the car and she made a beeline for the fence and met me there.
I was really glad to see her coming to greet me and her interest in the work. She had remembered everything and was still targeting my hands and the treat bag and lowering her head even though I hadn’t brought the target stick.
When I first touched her face with the halter she reverted to her old aversive head jerking.
But once she figured out that the halter was replacing the target stick she started putting it all together.
It wasn’t too long before she was tolerating me wrapping the halter around her face. Even for a split-second this was great progress.
She sensed my excitement and seemed to be pretty satisfied with herself. At the end of the session she was willing to model!
When my friend Agata asked me to work with her mare, Flo, she first simply said that the mare was, “shy”. It took me a little while to discern what the problem was because in the pasture Flo came right up to me and took a carrot out of my hand. It turned out that the six-year-old Arabian mare had been to a trainer and when she came back, she was emaciated and no one could touch her head. Getting a halter on her was nearly impossible.
I decided that Target Training would probably be the best start for this mare. Unfortunately I had forgotten my regular Target stick and the only thing I had in my car was my dog’s chuck-it. But it would have to do.
I asked Agata to bring Flo into the barn along with her buddy in order to keep her calm. Agata was reluctant to go into the stall to try to put the halter on the mare because she would “go ballistic.” She described how Flo would start spinning and flee from the halter leading to a very dangerous situation in close quarters!
I began Target Training the mare and she quickly picked up on the meaning of the click, which told her food was coming. Thankfully she was very interested in treats! When I started trying to touch her head around the ears, she would jerk away from me. I could immediately see how getting a halter on would be very difficult.
So the first exercise was in teaching her to touch the stick while allowing me to handle her face and head around her ears. It took about 20 minutes before she was calm enough to permit some handling.
Her friend , the Black mare was very interested in earning treats. It was pretty hard to ignore her asking for her own turn to touch the target stick! I finally offered her the stick and she opened her mouth and for a minute I thought she was going to suck the tennis ball right out of the chuckit! It was hilarious! Both mares are real characters. Even though Flo is nervous due to a serious case of PTSD she still has a gentle demeanor and is very intelligent.
At the end of the session she allowed her owner to brush her forelock and remove some of the burrs that had become embedded there.
That was good for a start . There is typically a learning phase during the downtime where the horse comes back more confident and the learning curve continues to grow with each session. We will let her think on it and then resume her training is the second session and see how it goes. It may take a couple of sessions before she is ready for a halter.
If you stop to think about how unnatural it is to ask a horse to step into a tin can so you can seal it up and bump and rattle 65 mph down the road, you might wonder how we ever get them to do it.
There are so many things wrong with trailering — where do you begin? For one, a horse is a visual creature. They can see tiny movement from a great distance and thrive on looking over a wide range of grass, scouting for predators. Forcing them to stand tied surrounded by walls is pretty harsh punishment. (This includes life in a stall, but that is a story for another time.)
Secondly, a horse balances on its hindquarters — throwing it forward every time you brake puts a lot more stress on the equine body than you might think. If you turn a horse loose in a stock trailer, he will face the rear of the vehicle while traveling.
With this you can add traffic noise, gasoline or diesel fumes, etc. I could go on. But when you combine all this stuff with a bad experience, well, an open trailer can quickly — and righteously — become the Gates of Hell.
So when my friend Linda called me about a mare that was coming back to her farm with a trailering issue, the way she put it was, “I want you to come and fix her.”
She called in May and although I was happy to come right away, she wanted to give the mare more time to settle in. She had been sold and returned after some time at a different location. I don’t know how long she was there.
When we finally agreed upon a date, it was the first week of September and I met Spring, a tall dark bay Morgan mare, around 15 years old, who had returned to the farm of her birth a mere shadow of her former self… An equine skeleton, nervous, planting her feet and reluctant to even come out of the stall. When she was led, she would plow into the handler with her left shoulder, hard enough to knock you off balance. She screamed for the other horses and couldn’t concentrate on anything she was asked to do.
My first day there, I decided to spend time on the hand leading problem. The first step was to target train her. I had my handy target stick along with me, one I purchased years ago from the talented former whale trainer, Shawna Karrasch. I was happy to see that Spring was handily food motivated. She especially loved carrots. She quickly learned to touch the target stick through repitition: Touch, click treat, touch, click, treat.
Once this is learned you can pretty much put the horse’s nose wherever you want it, and then the head and body follows naturally.
In walking her, I found her very eager to forge ahead. I think maybe the new owners had raced her around on a lunge line. A lot of horses that are taught to lunge in a hurry never do learn to properly lead. They will try to circle in front of you. Spring had to learn to yield out away from me, backing up a step when I took a right turn. She eventually learned to give me space, but it took about two days of hard work to get her there.
We spent a lot of time practicing in the driveway, calmly leading in different directions or just standing around, hanging out. She did earn a lot of treats, but she had to earn them. I didn’t do a lot of yelling and there was absolutely no correction. No jerking, no yelling, no punishment. Just easy stuff.
When we first approached the trailer, she planted her feet, her nostrils got as big as saucers, and she snorted and blew. Her head became a skyscraper, pointed straight up, eyes rolling in complete fear.
The mare, I had learned, had broken a trailer window with her head. Whatever else happened after leaving the farm just added to her PTSD. There was a whole lot of stress associated with that trailer.
This is where the target training came in handy. There is nothing bad associated with the stick. It is a simple point of focus, from which only good things come. It is easy to lower the head, which will naturally calm the horse, and the treats — especially delicious carrots — lead to a lot of contemplative chewing.
We spent a couple of days walking up to the open trailer door, looking in and then leaving. She was able to stick her head and neck in and she ate a bucket of grain that was placed inside.
Eventually, I began reinforcing her for touching the edge of the door with her knees. As she learned this new trick, she began lifting her knees higher, bumping the edge again and again until she volunteered to put one front foot up and in.
We worked in short shifts, three and four times a day. Some of these involved just walking her around and hand grazing. Not all of them involved the trailer.
On the fourth day, when she was comfortable with leading and approaching the trailer and putting her head in, we loaded another horse on board and started asking Spring to put her front feet in. Barn manager Janice accomplished this by lifting her front foot and placing it firmly inside. I stood in the trailer and reinforced her heavily for just keeping her foot where Janice had put it.
Normally I would have just waited for the mare to offer up her own foot, but we were working under some time constraints. This worked out okay. If possible, it’s always best to let the animal choose the right path. The healing happens faster that way as the brain engages.
Once Spring put two feet in on her own, we would immediately quit and then come back again a few hours later. The first time we encouraged her to get her whole body in there, she leaned down, stretching her neck wayyyy in, and crawled up into the trailer like a cat.
She earned a tub of grain and stood there and ate it nervously, but before she had even licked it clean, she was asked to unload again, calmly and went back to her stall.
It took six days and she finally climbed in on her own with no hesitation and no other horse.
If I had more time, I would keep loading her and unloading her with random sessions.
The additional benefits to this confidence building target training were remarkable. She is calmer away from the other horses and stopped calling for them. She leads politely without pulling or crowding. She is even calmer under saddle.
And she learned a really cute trick!
As her stress has decreased greatly, she will continue to gain weight and go back to her old lovable, funny self.
I encourage anyone who is having behavior issues to go back to the ground. Use behavior modification to address the fundamental cause of these problems. Building confidence works so much better than suppression through punishment or other “quick fixes.”
When she was home in July, the guardian made Amanda cry again. She broke down in the Northwood, one of our favorite restaurant hangouts on Drummond, begging him to “Please, I just want to hang out with Nancy. Please, Ted.”
He said, “I’m sorry.” He stood up and grabbed Amanda by the shoulder, encouraging her to get up and leave with him.
“You’re abusing her right now!” I shouted.
In what amounts to the most heartbreaking scene I have ever witnessed, Amanda tearfully complied. This 48 year old woman with Down syndrome had to endure the public humiliation of being treated like a child. But she did it with dignity. She got up, walked out of the restaurant with Ted and his wife, and meanwhile, I restrained myself from punching anyone in the throat.
I had traveled north and stayed on the island thanks to contributions from friends who wanted to see Amanda and me have some quality time together. One of the reasons the siblings feel free to crap all over us is because they know I don’t have a lot of money for legal fees. Thanks to the moral and financial support of friends, I was able to afford to get up there, pay for accommodations, and to feed myself and in the meantime try to find a civil way to make peace with Amanda’s guardian.
Before the restaurant incident, after which all bets were off, I had offered him a meeting of the minds. Instead, he stood outside the camper where they were staying, and accused me of all kinds of acts that were complete lies. Because when someone has done nothing wrong, what else can you do? For an example, Amanda was in the cart when the traces broke in a 1999 accident with Trudy where I was pulled out by the reins. I smashed my face to smithereens and needed surgery. Amanda remained sitting in the cart, unhurt. (The whole incident is recorded in my book, “Return to Manitou.”) Ted has decided that this is the very incident that caused Amanda’s blindness in one of her eyes…. Despite the fact that Amanda told him she wasn’t hurt in the accident.
This is the scope of evil that Amanda now lives with. If you can’t find a reason to emotionally batter a person, then make one up. Better yet, base it upon a true incident, and then twist the knife.
Amanda’s been having eye problems since as far back as the early 1990’s when she was still in school. Looks like I will have to see if my ex husband would be willing to write another affidavit to confirm this, too. God knows the other siblings won’t… Actually they probably wouldn’t remember anyway. They didn’t spend that much time around her.
Where was Ted when this accident occurred? Arizona, of course. Man, he sure knows a lot about what goes on around here. Amanda and I both have eye problems, but he must have pretty good vision to be able to see everything with such clarity, from such a distance.
Friends pointed out that the seatbelt is positioned across Amanda’s throat. I politely told her guardian that Amanda needed a booster seat. “She’s such a little person. I’m sure they make some for adults that wouldn’t be too humiliating for her.”
“She’s not a little person!” he snapped. “She’s 4 foot 10 and 150 lbs! She’s fine.”
Can’t tell him anything — even when it comes to her well-being.
One year ago today, he made a scene at Jon’s funeral. Our brother had died. His ashes were in a jar. And yet Ted thought it would be cool to forbid Amanda and me to go out for pizza and a movie with Jon’s widow, Judy, like we used to do in the old days when she lived on Drummond. Why did he forbid this? Same kind of crap. Oh, and Amanda and I are forbidden to keep calling each other “blood sister” — even though we have been using the endearment for 40 years. But he doesn’t approve of that.
It’s the hallmark of a narcissist. If you see that someone has something, take it. If you see a loving relationship, break it up. Anything that has nothing to do with you must come to an end.
Incidentally, during this exchange at Jon’s funeral, our sister Raechel decided to physically assault me, grabbing me by the arm and trying to pull me away from Amanda.
This whole group needs a proverbial dousing from a big ol’ tub of lemonade. Cool off, people. Get a little taste of reality. Have some sweet and sour. Pull your heads out. Really…. Don’t you have something better to do than to try to make life miserable for a disabled woman?
All we want is to be left alone, to have our movie and pizza in peace.
If Amanda wasn’t worth a monthly stipend, I daresay things would be a lot different. In short, they would have dumped her on me so fast my head would spin. Like they did our parents. I was glad to be their caretaker — but nobody else was the least bit interested in Amanda back then!
And so does my blog, doesn’t it? During our 2019 meeting, when I asked the guardian what he wanted from me, the answer was, “Stop blogging.”
He wouldn’t say for how long. He wouldn’t make any promises. I was supposed to just stop blogging, indefinitely, and then maybe — just maybe — I could see Amanda again.
So Amanda is held hostage, in his hopes of controlling my first amendment rights.
I don’t negotiate with bullies. Anyway, he doesn’t uphold his agreements. He said he was going to be on Drummond over the 4th, and that I could visit Amanda at that time. My friend Cindy and I drove six hours and spent a boatload of cash to go look for her on the island, to find that we had been tricked. They weren’t there. We drove 12 hours for nothing. Cindy brought gifts she had made for Amanda.
So Ted lies. I will not be making any deals with him. But I told him the answer to his blog conundrum is so simple, and it’s right in his hands. You don’t want your nasty actions featured in a blog? Do the right thing. Give me something GOOD to write about.
I would be happy to share good news. Ecstatic, in fact.
Thanks to the Drummond community. Someone spotted Amanda and let me know she was around. It was later in the month, after the 4th. I had to make another trip up. Everyone knows Amanda and they all know she’s being held hostage. That’s the beauty of a small town!
There is much more to tell about the 2019 summer on Drummond, about the abuse from Amanda’s guardian, about his lies and manipulation. I imagine it will come out as I feel the need to vent. But really, isn’t the next step to file another petition?
This will be my third petition for visitation. The other two were in Michigan and both judges refused to meet Amanda in person.
This time, it will be different.
If you watch the videos you will see that Amanda has no trouble communicating.
As I mentioned, I’ve got an affidavit from my ex, stating that Amanda lived with us every summer for a lot of years, and that our relationship was never anything but nurturing toward her. I am sure he would be also willing to confirm that she was not injured in the cart accident.
It’s pretty bad when the guy you divorced is a more upstanding citizen than your own siblings. But, this is our reality. Amanda adored Bruce. They were very close.
One of the reasons that guardianship is so damaging is because it’s so hard to fight. Arizona has better laws, with more regard for the ward’s feelings, but it’s expensive. The petition alone is $365. This is if I stay here in Michigan and try to conduct a hearing by phone, if they will let me.
I can’t afford travel right now. I shouldn’t have to. They should not be doing to my sister.
I will be selling some Elephant Art as a fundraiser. Meanwhile if you want to just send a contribution, feel free. I’m not too proud to accept the help on behalf of my sister’s well-being. I have to raise $365… As a start. http://paypal.me/cliffysmom
A blog full of stories, photos and drawings about all Wild life and nature living or surrounding Portuguesa's farmstead. / Um blog cheio de historias, fotografias e desenhos mostrando a vida selvagem e a natureza que vive e rodeia a Quinta da Portuguesa.