The Rest of My Crew

Since I posted about Diesel today I thought it only fair to post pictures of Bean and Twig, our two other dogs. Twig lives in Dallas with her grandma (my mom) because she fancies trying to bite Bean's face off. She's been there for about 9 months and I miss her terribly. But on the bright side I flew out in March to see her and she has attached to my mom in a huge way. Basically her grandma is now her "mom" and I'm, well, chopped livah. Or chopped cardboard, in dog speak. Bean is seven years old and from a breeder (before I knew better), Twig is almost four and Diesel is almost three. Both T and D are rescues.

Personal Day

I took this morning off from work to take one of our dogs, Diesel, to the vet. Poor thing has a Staph infection on his belly and in his armpits. He's been scratching like crazy for a few days and it was time to visit the doctor. He is terrified of everything outside of his comfort zone, which consists of the house, the backyard and around the block. My 49.3 pound watchdog turns into my 49.3 pound whimpering lapdog as soon as we walk into the vet's building. My heart pains for for him but nothing soothes his anxiety until we are back in the car and heading home. Right now he is happily sleeping under my chair. He's such a sweet boy.

The Decision

At 28 years old, I had a great job at a good company: Operations Manager at a regional indy financial firm. I dreamed of working with animals, specifically being a veterinarian, but dismissed my dreams in exchange for a steady paycheck, fantastic benefits and well, safety. It was much safer to stay at my job and crank out the years to retirement, than to give my boss the middle digit and start all over. And starting over at 28, after the blood, sweat and tears I gave to my job, was mortifying. So I stayed. I stayed, got promoted, and got divorced. I moved to a different state, found someone new and so so so much better and moved to a new company. I tested the waters of self employment and hated it. I came out credit crunched and longing for the safe world of financial services. I took the Series 7 again, and the supervisory exams (again) and came back.

Now I'm 34. Thirty four. If I would have taken the leap back then, I could be a DVM now. This is the part of the reason I've decided to spend my summer volunteering with every kind of animal I can find and go part time at work in August and full time in school. The other part is, ahem, staff reductions of 30% and yours truly, the "Manager" (more about that later) is now the Receptionist. Take a breath. Yeah, I get the coffee. And I open the mail. I also get the patronizing looks from people who obviously feel bad that I'm still a receptionist at my age. I can almost read it in their eyes, "Aww, isn't she sweet? She's cute and she'll find a nice man one day. Hopefully before she's not to old to, well, you know." That ego gut punch demotion to receptionist was exactly the push I needed. It made my decision easy. Thank you, economy. Really, thank you.

So far I've spent four Sundays at the raptor center 45 minutes away, doing whatever they need me to do. Mostly cleaning cages, feeding the birds and trying not to die from fear of doing both. On the surface it's 100% different from what I have done in the past, although the more time I spend with the birds the more I realize the similarities between them and the brokerfolk. For example, some birds of prey can be compared to some brokers. I've learned with birds if I creep into their enclosure slowly and quietly they don't mind much, but if I enter their world with my ego on my sleeve and an agenda (cleaning out their water bowl) they start squawking. I should have known this from prior experience.

That's all for now. I'm tired after a long afternoon outside and I smell like I've been cutting up dead mice all afternoon. And I need to rest up for my "real job" tomorrow.