February 25, 2025

Lending a Hand … or a Leash

June 15, 2011 by

Hero Dog Alki

I’m clumsy. I survive by assuming everybody else is, too.

Despite the obvious (and frequently embarrassing) hazards, it’s a pretty good way to live. Really.

Don’t take me wrong. Injuries, hurt feelings, creepy people and events: not into them. But I am into building community, and for me that can sometimes mean being clumsy.

Lending a Hand

One afternoon I was on the beach access ramp with my dogs. Tree-sized driftwood blocked the ramp, so the woman walking towards us carrying a baby had a difficult climb.

What would a clumsy person do? I stopped and offered her my hand.

She politely refused, but as she climbed up on the log, it rolled and threw her off balance. As I reached for her, she clutched the baby tightly in one arm and held out the other, saying, “I’ll take that hand.”

In a few seconds both were safely on the ramp.

Lending a Leash

Several weeks later I was out alone with my younger dog, Alki, who has recently become deaf. Alki has understandably been emotional, cranky, and skittish about becoming deaf, especially with other dogs.

That day, a loose dog ran up to us, a dog I thought might live nearby. Now any dog can be dangerous, especially a strange one. Plus Alki was once mauled, and I was injured saving him while beating the crap out of the attacking dog (fierce mama, that’s me). So I hesitated.

What would a clumsy person do? I stopped to help the dog.

I called it to us, making sure it kept its distance but stayed with us (and out of the street). While I was calm and cheerful, I closely watched both dogs. As the loose dog warily regarded us, Alki visibly braced himself, gently greeted the dog, then quietly and calmly helped me herd it. When the dog stopped to sniff something, we waited. When it wandered away, Alki urged it back with a head shake that could only mean, “Follow us, buddy.”

Eventually we got down the block, and two neighbors out with their dog stopped to help. The wandering dog was soon reunited with its family.

The point? Oddly, being clumsy works.

We can worry that the world has too many problems, and nothing we can do will matter. Or we can assume that we’re all clumsy, together, and lend a hand—or a metaphorical leash—when we can.

It’s all part of building community. Is your way easier than being clumsy? Tell us about it.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Filed Under: Human-Animal Bond, Living Tagged With: , , , , ,

Cool Things We Need to Know

April 15, 2011 by

This week we’ve all heard how incompetent we are: according to the media, none of us pee enough or understand that nuclear power was idiotic to begin with. Some of us do and did. That includes me. How about you?

While you’re thinking about it, here’s something to like: check out “Field Study Stars Rock the Animal World“ at MSNBC.com. We have bald eagles, raccoons, all kinds of wild critters, including river otters (I swear one tried to trip me and the dogs the night we were trying to find the Super Moon, which is why you’d never find any member of my family trying to find any of these animal rock stars in the wild, or anywhere else, we are simply not competent).

One thing I am good at is getting my wonderful neighbor, Danny L. McMillin, to send me cool photos for my sites. Here’s an eagle, looking at you!

Welcome to spring (maybe)!

 

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

 

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Winning National Writing Awards

February 21, 2011 by

We had a winning table at the Dog Writers Association of America (DWAA) writing awards banquet at the Affinia Hotel in New York City Feb. 13, 2011! This is the DWAA’s 76th year, a professional association of people writing about dogs in newspapers, magazines, newsletters, books, and in art and photography. We were gathered to honor nominees and winners on the night before the 135th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show at Madison Square Garden.

Here are our table’s winners!

On the left is Julie Reck, DVM, a young vet who owns Home Farewell, a veterinary practice providing pet hospice in the Charlotte, NC area. Articulate and passionate about her difficult work, Julie wrote about providing detailed information on how to determine when your beloved pet’s life is ending. She won the 2010 Best Book, Care and Health Award, for Facing Farewell: A Guide to Making End of Life Decisions for Your Pet. You can find her book at www.facingfarewell.com. Get your vet to stock it!

That’s me in the middle—Robyn M Fritz. I won the 2010 Merial Human-Animal Bond Award for “the work that best highlights the unique relationship between a dog and its owner and best brings to life the concept of the human-animal bond.” It honors my book, Bridging Species: Thoughts and Tales About Our Lives with Dogs. The award came with a $500 cash grant and a $250 travel stipend to attend the banquet. Many thanks to Merial for sponsoring the award, and to the judges who saw that my work, and my book, is about new ways of thinking about creating families with animals, especially with dogs (and cats). You can order autographed copies for yourself and friends here on my site! I was also a finalist for 2010 Best Book – Humor.

On the right is Susan Hartzler, president of Alpha Dog PR in Los Angeles. Susan won the 2010 Angel on a Leash Award for her article, “Therapy Dog Extraordinaire,” in Animal Wellness magazine. The award came with a $250 cash grant. Susan is a smart and savvy PR professional whose business provides the media with up-to-the-minute information about her clients in the hospitality and pet industries. Susan was also a finalist for Internet magazines for DIY Doggie. Susan is holding her service dog, Baldwin, a Puli. You can find them both at www.alphadogpr.com.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

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The Other Fritzes

January 17, 2011 by

My version of the Fritz family is complete with two dogs and a cat (and Fallon, and …). My brother’s version has a Jack Russell terrier, Skittles, and three fantastic humans I am proud and honored to call family. Here’s Ron and Jan with Justin, graduating from the University of Oregon in 2010, and Randall cheering him on. I never thought I’d be old enough to ‘remember when,’ but I do recall the boys as babies, and how impatiently I waited until they were old enough to go on adventures. Then, somehow, they were doing wheelies in my car in a parking lot! I am proud of their vitality and enthusiasm, their humor and kindness, their hard work and commitment to community. Our future is in good hands when they belong to young people like my nephews. Carry on, boys!

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

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You Are Your Brand: How Being a Lousy Criminal Can Be Good for Business

January 15, 2011 by

Yes, being a lousy criminal can be good for our business. Let me explain.

We are our brands. As entrepreneurs, as people living our daily lives, everything we do reflects on our business, good, bad, or indifferent. It makes a difference. So how do we make that difference a good one?

By always thinking about how we build relationships, from our business to our personal and community lives. Because it always matters, no matter the task.

With the media spotlight on 24/7, we notice this on a large scale every day. What we don’t always consider is the small scale, where most of us live. How does our own behavior affect not just our business but our community?

Impressions stick, to our brands and to us. They affect what people think about our business and about us, what we think about ourselves, and, because I work as an intuitive, what our businesses think about themselves.

It’s not hard to be nice, but is it a winning strategy? Well, are you in it for the long haul, to both build a great business and contribute to your community, or are you planning to move to Mars?

Great businesses depend on developing—and keeping—good relationships. Especially when you goof up. How quick are you to recognize a problem and try to solve it so everyone benefits?

Here’s an example.

I’ve been going to Barnecut’s in West Seattle for over 20 years: I gas up my car, get flats repaired, get air for my tires. I value their friendly, concerned service.

Then came the day I stole gas from them. It was an accident. Honest. I slipped my card in the slot, pumped gas, wrote it down in my gas log, and drove off.

A few months later I drove up to get gas and the owner came out, smiling, saying: “Robyn, did you come to pay for your gas?”

Puzzled, I said: “Sure, but I have to pump it first.”

“No,” he said, “this was a few months ago.”

Puzzled, I followed him inside. A young attendant waited behind the counter, shaking in righteous excitement. “It’s her,” he said. “I recognize her and the car. She did it.”

I stared at him. He was stunned that he’d ID’d a criminal. Me. He held up a receipt they’d taped to the counter, convinced that I’d pumped $23.03 in gas and driven off without paying. They’d been keeping an eye out for me for two months, but apparently not a keen one, since I stop regularly.

I looked at the receipt. “Well, I see the name, Robin,” spelled wrong, as usual, “but I don’t have a Camry.”

“But it’s you, I recognize you,” he insisted. “And your car.”

Okay, this was getting tense. I went for humor. “So why didn’t you have me arrested?”

Well, they’d known me for 20 years, like you know a lot of people you bump into or buy things from, but they didn’t actually know how to find me. Arresting seemed extreme (and difficult). So they waited to get lucky.

What was hilarious and absurd was now serious. A long-term customer relationship was hanging. The owner was smiling, but tense. The young attendant was uncertain about pushing it. And I was what we all sometimes are: confused.

I hesitated. I could have a temper tantrum and walk out, upsetting all of us and ruining my reputation, and everybody’s day. Or I could calmly try to figure this out.

“Well,” I said. “I am clearly the worst criminal in the world. Not only did I have no idea I’d stolen anything, but I clearly didn’t get away with it.”

They cracked up and the tension immediately evaporated.

“So, would someone fill my tank for me while we figure this out?” I asked.

Another attendant ran to do that while I retrieved my gas log and we matched records. Sure enough, I’d written it down but there was a glitch in the pump system, so it had allowed me to pump gas without recording my card.

“Criminy,” I said to the owner. “People must drive off all the time without paying.”

“No,” he said, grinning. “Just you.”

We promptly settled up and I left. The next time I got gas, the young attendant who’d ‘caught’ me came rushing out to help me.

I laughed. “You’re never gonna let me pump gas again, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. Then laughed.

So here’s the thing. Barnecut’s and I both had proof that I was an accidental crook, a lousy criminal. What would I have done without proof? Pay up. Why?

Because I believe in their brand. And they believed in mine enough to hang onto a receipt until the next time they noticed me come in.

A year later I’m still buying gas from Barnecut’s, and they still tease that I can get free gas any time I want: after all, I’d been coming back for 20 years. But for a few minutes that day, a relationship and a reputation hung in the balance: theirs and mine. I chose to be a customer who listened to a business’s complaint and tried to resolve it. The same way I would if the situation were reversed. That was good for both our businesses and for me. It boosted my brand because I am my brand.

So how do you react when things go wrong? Do you figure out and and resolve the problem, or do you sever relationships and move on?

Business or customer, are you your brand?

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

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The Guardians of Alki

January 14, 2011 by

Yes, I talk with gardens and the beings who look out for them: where I live, I call them the Guardians of Alki, because Alki Beach is our neighborhood, and the names the guardians have historically been assigned are mean and scary and not worthy of us or them. Besides, at the time it didn’t occur to me to ask them their name, or that it might be inappropriate (it is) to just give them one. This is how I learned a good lesson on naming.

The first time I saw the Guardians, I was closing up the house for the night when I noticed all these strange-looking beings were milling around in the backyard, on the wild, isolated hillside that few people can actually see. Some looked like walking trees, others like plants, others like combinations of people and plants. None of them looked human, but they were also picnicking and settling down to peep in my window! I had never seen anything that looked remotely like these beings, and all I could do was stare. Then, like any normal, rational human, I turned away, muttering, “Criminy, I need drugs.”

Of course, I couldn’t resist one more peek. That’s when they noticed me. “Look, there she is!” a few yelled, so I was sure that, yes, they were peeping! And making a game out of it! Then they waved at me.

Dumbfounded, I stared, then thought, Oh, what the heck (it’s kind of my motto now). I waved back. Slowly. Bemused, to say the least.

That’s how I met the Guardians. Turned out they were gardeners, so for the next year I worked with them to rehabilitate the ruined gardens at our condo, from the soil up (and yes, there were real humans doing the work, not me, I’m physically handicapped). Finally, it was October, and I was rushing to get plants into the garden before winter. These beings had been nothing but helpful: to the wild and domestic land that surrounds us to the amazing being that is our neighborhood. But winter was coming quick, and the plants weren’t yet purchased or planted. The Guardians were anxious to go into the garden before winter, so I invited them to come into my home and live with us for a month until the plants were in—as long as they first got approval from my animals.

One of the guardians, the smallest, shyest, and most unusual looking (like a possum with a bright green round bush growing out of its back) took me up on the offer and moved in. My animals didn’t mind, and it often made me laugh, because it would hide and peek out at me as I walked by, and then duck under the furniture when I teased it: “I can see you.”

Some time after that I read something that made me realize that other people didn’t call these beings Guardians. They were formally known as fairies, and many people used to think, and maybe still do, that fairies are bad guys and will hurt us if they can (why, I have no idea).

I was astonished that somebody with that kind of reputation would do what the Guardians had done: benignly, patiently help me build a garden. Or fail to identify themselves, which seemed, somehow, wrong. After all that work together, I thought they should have told me who they were. Why, I have no idea. (Note again that at the time it never occurred to me to ask them their name; I was arrogant and unthinking in simply assigning them a name based on the work I thought they did.)

Honestly, I didn’t really know what a fairy was, and still don’t. (One of the things my guides like about me is that I’m somewhat clueless about the in’s and out’s of things like witchcraft, shamanism, or folklore, so I’m bold and daring (they said this, laughing), or at least open to new experiences that aren’t pre-defined. For example, I think about talking with something, like an oil spill, and then I’m there. The first few times I did this I had no idea people called it astral traveling. I think this is also why I have such a large community of beings who accompany me on my conversational jaunts, as I sometimes goof up and need backup, and they are all easily amused. The closest I’ve come to accidentally killing myself I was tackled by an annoyed guide, so I’m learning to be more cautious.)

So anyway, there they were, looking at me, and I was mad. “You’re fairies?” I yelled. “You’re fairies? Why didn’t you tell me you were fairies?”

They very solemnly looked at me and said, “If you knew they called us fairies, would you have invited us into your home?”

That stopped me in my tracks. Would I? Does a name make a difference, or is it the work, or intent? What a lesson!

“Yes,” I said. “Because I know and trust your work. What they call you doesn’t matter.”

Something changed in that moment. They looked at me, at each other, and smiled. And when the garden was finally planted, the Guardians of Alki moved into it and settled down for the winter, including the little visitor. By then it was November, and quite mild. I worried about that. Even I knew it takes awhile for a garden to get established, and a freeze could ruin everything.

It was the land and the weather itself that answered me, joking. “Did you think we’d put you to all this work and then freeze the garden?”

I laughed and relaxed. We had a mild, dry winter that year, unusual for Seattle. In fact, I had to drag out the hose and water most of the winter. But spring was worth it.

And, a year later, a coyote appeared regularly outside my office window. For two springs and summers I grinned happily as I watched this wild dog play on an isolated hillside, nap, scratch its fleas, try to catch a bird shadow, tease my cat, dash away when it accidentally spotted me, and lounge while I worked. Yes, I knew more about animals than plants, had spent three years turning a ruined landscape into a certified Backyard Wildlife Habitat, complete with some rare native plants, and yet what truly thrilled me was the coyote.

The Guardians knew that. When I exclaimed over the coyote, they said she was a gift, thanks from them for the work I’d done in the garden and on the hillside to re-establish a native habitat. They gently pointed out that their gift was the coyote, because they knew I liked animals better. I was happy but saddened, too. I really did love the garden, but the guardians were right: I loved the coyote more.

To this day I do not know what name the Guardians give themselves. I haven’t asked, and they like the name I instinctively called them. So the lesson in naming continues. And one in appreciation, too, because I really do love the garden, but that coyote…

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

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Is It Weather Worker or Weather Talker? How to Work with Weather

January 14, 2011 by

I call myself a weather talker, not a weather worker. There is a difference.

A weather worker changes the weather, usually because the weather worker wants to. The weather and the land around it, including the guidance forces that created it, are not always consulted.

While many of us can change the weather (yes, change it), it’s rarely a good idea. In fact, it’s usually stupid. Why? Because humans just aren’t smart enough to know more about nature than nature itself does.

Before you object to that, consider our food supply. We can’t grow crops that are genetically diversified enough to keep us all from starving, so why would we be smart enough to know more about weather than the weather systems themselves, or their makers?

Here’s another thing. Everything is on a schedule; if you want to change that schedule it involves a lot of negotiation with many different beings. And there are always consequences, many unintended, all tricky, multi-layered, complex … never simple, and usually not understood until they’re upon us and impossible to avoid.

Being a weather talker is much more in balance with an earth paradigm, which sees all of life cooperating to build a healthy, balanced planet. If I’m interested in a weather change, I talk with the weather, and find out what’s going on. That’s how both sides learn: human and other.

I learn a lot about weather and the land by simply talking with it. These beings are often eager to talk with us, and when they’re not, they usually say why.

Sometimes, though, the prospect of talking with some of them is, well, daunting.

Okay, take a deep breath …

What would you say to a hurricane?

In Defense of Hurricanes

Is the planet’s weather changing? If so, why? Is there something we should do about it? If so, what?

Humans don’t understand hurricanes, and we absolutely have to. Now.

Hurricanes are massive cleansing forces. When a hurricane comes to an area, every being in its path, from human to building to plant to animal, everything gets to choose whether it will live or die. Everything. Whatever things look like afterwards, and I admit it can be terrifying and sad and disrupting, whatever it looks like is what needs to happen for the hurricanes to cleanse the land and the sea. Without them, the planet cannot survive. I know, easy to say, hard to live through, but it’s the truth.

Hurricanes are carefully planned and sent out into the world by what I call guidance forces (who laughed when I slipped one day and called them gods, because I have a lot of trouble with the god concept). Hurricanes are also fully conscious beings and actively choose whether to do the work they were created for, just like all of life. The problem is, like all of life, they can be manipulated, changed, so that they don’t do exactly what they were intended to do. They then go off course. This affects all the hurricanes that come after them, because if a job is left undone, everything behind it has to alter to try to do that work. This happens to all of life, but few things have the large-scale effect of a hurricane.

So, when humans construct machines to deflect hurricanes, or actively use their intuitive abilities to deflect them from land or to mitigate their strength, or to eliminate them entirely, we screw things up. Badly. We’ve been doing this for eons, and it has to stop. The hurricanes are really trying to save the planet, just like all of us. We need to understand and help them do their work by letting them do it. And we need to stand beside them with love and purpose and refuse to let other beings, including humans, change them. Hurricanes have the right and responsibility to choose to do their work whether we like it or not.

Humans are not the only beings that interfere with hurricanes, but we’re the only ones that most of us can really do anything about. If nothing else, we can change our attitude towards hurricanes. Every time we get mad and want one to go somewhere else, every time we fear one, we affect its course.

The one thing that all of us can do with hurricanes is literally thank them for their work and bless them on their way. You can do this whether you live in its path or not. All it takes is a simple thought sent its way, as you’re going to work, as you stop to get coffee, whatever. Remember, it is true, we all hold the fate of the world in our choice. We can choose to love a hurricane, which helps it do its work, or we can make everything worse by hindering it.

It’s really that simple. The ramifications are stunning.

In future posts I’ll tell the stories of the hurricanes I’ve met, and of the other weather systems I’ve worked with. I’ll write about how we can work with weather systems.

So what would you say to a hurricane?

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

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Sinking or Swimming While Writing Your Book

January 14, 2011 by

The hardest book I’ve ever done? My own.

No kidding. Not even the analytical, skeptical, intuitive, optimistic cynic in me saw that one coming.

In all the years I’ve written and worked with other authors, nurtured them through the writing and publishing process, never have I had so much trouble! I astonished myself with the insecurities, self-doubts, indecisions, and writing quandaries that I routinely help other people through. I laughed at myself and couldn’t help it. I learned, again, why it’s so important to get competent outside help to develop and publish your book, whether you’re going the solo indie route or shopping it to an editor or agent.

I guess you call it living the process.

 

 

I was smart enough to hire the best designer out there: Robert Lanphear of Lanphear Design. Several years ago Bob had graciously agreed to work with me on a complex technical marketing book, and I’d promised him an art book some day. What he got was an idea for my book: a collection of essays and comic stories about how I created a family with my dogs (and cat), a small book that people could give as gifts. I’ll detail the story of how Bob made me not only finish the production of the book but re-think how I wanted it to look. How he was right. And why it mattered.

I was also smart enough to hire a wonderful photographer, Mary Van De Ven, who is also a massage therapist and Reiki master. Mary and I actually met in Reiki class, and have become good friends. After Bob refused to let me do my book cover the way I thought it should be done I hired Mary to conduct a new photo shoot, an exhausting 5-hour process (you try to get a cat to pose politely with two dogs) that ended with me and the dogs at the beach, pretty much how Bob and I had discussed it.

So here’s a public thanks to Bob and Mary for helping making my dream come true. And for the one thing no writer would ever dream of and absolutely needs: a cover that sells the book all by itself.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

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Alchemy West: Our Interview at Working Dog Wednesday

January 13, 2011 by

Robyn: One of the best things at Alchemy West in 2010 was working with Bella the Boxer and her staff, Ellen Galvin and Patrick Galvin, on Bella’s book.

Yes, Bella is a dogpreneur and wrote Secrets of a Working Dog: Unleash Your Potential and Create Success. Bella has upped the ante on the self-help genre, showing humans how they can create successful lives with the vigor, wisdom, and wit that only a working dog like a boxer can provide.

I loved helping Bella shape her book. And we also helped her publish it, teaming up with Robert Lanphear, the artistic director who is the creative and technical expert at Lanphear Design in Seattle.

Bella writes a blog, too, http://blog.bellatheboxer.com/, and has a regular column, Working Dog Wednesday, where she ‘interviews cool working dogs.’ In our case she graciously agreed to include me and Grace the Cat in her interview with Alchemy West’s Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Murphy and Alki.

Bella is Director of Goodwill (D.O.G.) at Galvin Communications in Portland, Oregon. Ellen Galvin is the company’s chief wordsmith. Patrick Galvin is a professional speaker who galvanizes audiences to achieve greater levels of success in work and life.

Match Bella’s spunkiness with a couple of Cavaliers and a cat and you end up laughing a lot as you chat about working and living in the 21st century. Here’s the complete interview, before editing (not even an intuitive communicator like me can keep three dogs and a cat from goofing off on the job and just gabbing). It also had to be edited for things that might not meet FCC standards, like a cat saying the word ‘naked.’ It would come from a cat, wouldn’t it?

You can also find us at Bella’s blog, Bella the Boxer!

Here’s the complete interview.

Bella: Well, this is a first … I’m interviewing a whole team! Murphy, Alki and Grace the Cat make up the powerful board of directors at Alchemy West Inc., a Seattle-based company led by Robyn M Fritz. Robyn also happens to be the editor of my book, which is one reason that I’m so proud of it! Welcome!

Robyn: Hi, Bella! I’m glad you liked my help with your book. You have wonderful things to tell all of us about leading balanced lives, with the emphasis on fun! And you were fabulous to work with! I can’t wait to see what you write next!

Grace the Cat: What, a dog writing a book? How does that happen?

Murphy and Alki: Bella’s talented. And we helped by keeping the office in order while Robyn worked with her.

Grace the Cat: Well, there was a lot of laughing.

Murphy and Alki: Bella’s funny!

Bella: And smart.

Murphy and Alki: And wise! We have to admit, boxers are cool, especially Bella. But we’re Cavaliers, known for exceptional clarity of thought and devotion to duty, well, okay, cookies and fun times. We could write a book.

Robyn and Grace the Cat: What?

Murphy and Alki (giggling): Well, there is that thing about Bella being a working dog!

Bella: Wait, why are you guys laughing?

Murphy and Alki: We’re toy dogs! We get paid to play and look cute!

Grace the Cat: Sheesh, dogs. You don’t say that kind of thing around humans!

Robyn: Really. I see a lock on the cookie jar coming.

Murphy, Alki, and Bella: Oh, no!

Grace the Cat: Like I said …

Bella: Tell us a bit about yourselves and Alchemy West, Inc.

Robyn: It’s all about storytelling. I believe that telling stories creates good will, good humor, and great communities, so I tell my stories and help visionary writers tell theirs. I go out and talk with groups about storytelling, especially telling stories about their animals. And because I’m also an intuitive communicator, I help people speak with the beings in their life. It’s all connected because a healthy, balanced world starts with an intuitive, heart-based connection between humans and the beings they most treasure, from their writing projects to their animal companions, homes, businesses, and the land around them.

I love working with writers who are eager to jump into an intuitive, gut-level approach to find and shape their books, whether it’s through individual book development services or group writing seminars.

And it’s inspiring and deeply fulfilling to see how intuitive communication enriches people’s family and business lives by simply helping them talk with the beings who are waiting to talk with them.

Bella: I understand that Robyn wrote a book about you, Bridging Species: Thoughts and Tales About Our Lives with Dogs. The Dog Writers Association of America has nominated it as 2010 Best Book – Humor. It was also nominated for the 2010 Merial Human-Animal Bond Award, given to the work that best highlights the unique relationship between a dog and its owner and best brings to life the concept of the human-animal bond. Very big deal for you guys. So, what does it feel like to be famous?!

Grace the Cat: We’re famous?

Murphy and Alki: Well, we are! We get all the attention at book signings and public events because we’re the cover dogs. People actually stop when they drive by and see us on the street (even when Robyn is outside in her pajamas).

Grace the Cat: I’m the only one here with fashion sense. Those are NOT pajamas. And the dogs—they wear raincoats outside! I’m for the natural look: naked!

Murphy and Alki and Robyn: We noticed.

Robyn: Grace, you just said …

Bella: Robyn, why do you write about the human-animal bond?

I worked in Cavalier rescue for a few years, helping dogs find new homes. I realized that I could help a few dogs that way or help a lot more by writing about how and why we create families with animals, and what that means from a mystical, cultural, practical, and even comic aspect.

Murphy: I’m very funny. And Alki, you can’t help but laugh with him!

Grace: You’re dogs, goes without saying.

Robyn: It’s like that all day around here. The cat and dog wisecracking! I sometimes wonder how we get any work done.

Bella: What other projects do you have in store for Robyn in 2011?

Murphy and Alki and Grace: Robyn is busy writing Murphy’s Tales. It tells how Murphy’s chronic illness as a young dog inspired our family’s journey to wellness and sparked Robyn’s intuitive abilities. And how Murphy taught Robyn street smarts—

Robyn: Sad, but true, and she was only six months old.

Alki and Grace: And saved them both from an earthquake—before it happened!

Robyn: Yes, all things that made me wonder what was going on in animal minds, and how I could find out. This year I’m also doing a lot of writing coaching and teaching events, to help people focus and tell their stories efficiently and well and get them out into the world. And speaking about how we deepen relationships with all life, from animals to the world around us.

Murphy and Alki and Grace: We’re also writing an online magazine, Bridging the Paradigms, full of stories about creating community with all life. And Robyn is doing all kinds of intuitive work with our newest family member: the crystal, Fallon. It’s intense, but we’re never too busy to play, eat, and power nap!

Bella: So, Robyn, are Murphy and Alki and Grace the Cat your creative muses?

Robyn: In many ways, yes. They help me explore a new normal for a family: that multi-species families are families first, and species second, and what matters is that we’ve chosen to live our lives together. When I look at my family I see thinking, intelligent, resourceful, loving, intriguing souls who just happen to be in animal bodies. Their lives are worthwhile, and ours are together. They accept my limitations with far more diplomacy and patience than I do theirs.

Grace: Yes, dogs can be a trial. That’s why I trained mine well.

Murphy and Alki: What?

Robyn: Grace, that’s a secret of a working cat.… Seriously, my family makes me think about what the world can be like if we accept the diversity of all life. If we can create loving relationships within a multi-species family, how hard can it really be for humans to get along?

Murphy and Alki and Grace: We’re the inspiration—and the comic relief! We’re not just pets, we’re family. We help Robyn see what families look like when we don’t take each other for granted, when we don’t set limits on how they should look but explore what they can and do look like when everybody’s equal.

Robyn: That’s right. I pay attention to what bores, entertains, intrigues, annoys, or puzzles them, and I write about how we try to mesh that into a multi-species family, where we all have attitudes.

Grace: What’s an attitude?

Bella and Murphy and Alki: A cat.

Murphy and Alki and Grace: We joke around, but we’re creatives, just like Robyn. We helped her realize that families come in all shapes and sizes and manner of beings, and learning how to adapt to each other is how we come together to make the world a better place.

Bella: What are your roles? How do you avoid stepping on each other’s fuzzy little toes?

Grace: Alki snoozes all day on his dog bed and Murphy holds down the recliner, so I clearly have to supervise them and watch for intruders from my windowsill perch. When I decide the work day is done, I sit by the keyboard, push all the pens off the desk, and, if that doesn’t work, I climb on Robyn’s shoulder and put my tail in her face.

Murphy and Alki: We taught Grace how to shut the laptop.

Robyn: That trick I could do without.

Murphy and Alki: Plus we take Robyn for walks, fetch sticks, lobby for cookie breaks, make people laugh at our cute grins, run errands, greet visiting writers, take Grace for car rides, and feed Robyn one-liners. We’re on duty all day unless a sunspot shows up or we need to snoop on the neighborhood.

Bella: Any advice for other working dogs (er, cats, too!)?

Murphy and Alki and Grace: We like being part of the new families people are creating with us. Teach your humans how to laugh, take breaks, and play and exercise with us, and keep imagining new ways for all of us to be together in one big community. Take your jobs as family members and office mates seriously. The pay is great.

Robyn: The pay? Well… thanks, Bella, for chatting with us. And keep writing!

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Filed Under: Human-Animal Bond, Living Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

What’s Up with Our Gardens: Intuitively Connecting with Nature

January 12, 2011 by

All of nature is willing to talk and work with us. The question is: are humans?

I, for one, talk with nature, with the beings most people don’t consider to be alive like we are, let alone able to speak with us. Including our gardens.

Some years ago I decided to take over the neglected gardens at my condo, which included wild space on a steep hillside out back and dying or badly overgrown plants in our public, street-side face. I spent a lot of time researching garden design, appropriate plants for our area (Seattle is considered rainy, but the microclimate I live in is windswept, salty, and dry), and finding a gardening company to do all the work.

I’ve grown house plants for years. In the 10 years I lived in Michigan I had a hundred house plants, from miniature roses to an 8-foot plumeria tree that I grew from a cutting I bought in a garden shop in Hawaii. Today we live with a 50-year-old jade tree called Raymond, for my father, who started him from a small cutting. Raymond is so big I built a stone floor to support him. He acts like he’s an oak tree, spreading his peaceful aura over my dogs and cat, who sleep under him. He’s even patient with the cat, who climbs up his sturdy branches to pose like the lion king as she surveys the street outside.

We all notice and appreciate gardens, even if we’re just watching our dogs pee on them (not allowed at our house). It wasn’t until I decided to manage our condo gardens that I took a really good look at what I was seeing.

I was astonished. The pesticides, the brutal shearing, the simple destruction of a plant ‘that isn’t working anymore,’ or a rush for the newest plant made me conclude that gardeners might just possibly be the people most hostile toward nature. Why is that?

I’ll explore it in future posts.

Here’s a story about a great gardener, someone both intuitively and practically tuned into her garden, which includes a small creek and mature fir trees. She asked me to look at a newly planted tree that was not thriving. As I stood considering it I heard a deep voice say, “Turn around.”

I turned: the voice belonged to a large Douglas fir tree across the street in a neighbor’s yard, in a direct line from where I stood.

“And again,” the tree said.

I turned back and saw another fir tree, possibly a quarter mile away. I was standing directly in their energetic path. The trees wanted the struggling tree moved into a direct line with them, several feet from where it was planted. They were creating a large protective space to shield the gardener as she developed her garden and, as it turned out, her own intuitive abilities and an interest in herbalism.

The gardener didn’t agree with the move, so the tree stayed where it was: the gardener had chosen it for a wet spot, and insisted it stay there. The tree has done well, showing nature and people can compromise and work together.

But we learned something more that day. I noticed that, despite being planted in a wet area, the tree was drought-stricken. I looked closer. The gardener had done what most people do: planted the tree and kept the area around it bare. To keep the weeds down she’d tucked a weed mat on top. The weed mat was suffocating the plant.

I yanked it off. The owner objected, but the ground beneath it was bone dry.

I’m an intuitive, right? So nature itself told me what that meant. Black plastic and weed mats block the energy that comes from wind and rain, and so the plants and the land they’re on suffocate. They don’t get the energy that comes from the rain that falls on them and the sun that shines, which is different from the soil they may be growing in, and groundwater. Honest. Simple. Stunning.

The gardener and I both did double-takes on that. The tree got watered and the weed mat was banned. Today the tree is healthy.

The lesson? Anxious to be great gardeners and still have a life we resort to time-saving measures, like pesticides and herbicides, black plastic and weed mats. But nature has a different perspective.

Pesticides and herbicides we know about: a lot of damage to the plants, to the land, and to us from indiscriminate use of chemicals. But the simple time-savers like weed mats will also kill our plants and, by extension, possibly us.

Really, our environment is everything. So what do we do about it? How do we respond to nature? Can we start taking small steps that will get us all to the same place at the right time—to a healthy, balanced planet? What does that look like? What do the guardians of nature have to say?

These are some of the issues I’ll be exploring in this column. But for right now, what one step can you take in your garden that will allow the energy of nature itself into it?

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Filed Under: Living Tagged With: , , ,
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