|On Sunday, June 21, Surreal Life star/singer Jane Weidlin of The Go-Gos popped by to watch The Golden Girls
Notorious Sainted Glamazon About Town
It is said pets take on the personalities of their owners.Â
Take for example Cookie Dough and husband MC2, whose kitties Wolfie and LuLu are growing old together in perfect harmony. Thereâ€™s Heklina and Einar, a cat so vicious to all but its closest companion most enter their home in fear of being attacked. And this theory provides as good an explanation as any why little Piggy Del Mar, my Jack Russell Terrier, prances through the Castro like he owns the place, feels responsible for making sure all at the dog park have a good time and seems to have only two speeds - full-throttle and dead asleep.Â
It could also explain why he is such a jealous lover! Rather than delving into my character defects, letâ€™s simply says when it comes to other dogs, Piggy is incredibly protective of my attention and affection. Though he would quickly trade his favorite spot on my lap to fetch a toy, when another furry friend approaches as Piggy is curled next to me, heâ€™s quick with a warning growl.Â
When it comes to two-legged admirers, no matter how few and far-between they might be, Piggy proves equally concerned. Afraid I might divide my kisses and love with another - any other - he jumps and barks when I share intimate moments. And donâ€™t get me started on a mortifying incident some years ago which found him licking a suitor quite inappropriately.Â
Since bringing Piggy home with me from a Sebastapol breeder (of dogs, people, not a heterosexual - though this was both) on August 16, 2005, the thought of adopting a brother or sister for him has passed through my mind on a regular basis. As with the idea that animals act like their people, it is also widely believed easier to raise two than one. Especially with small, hyper dogs like Piggy (whose real name, I must add, is Jordan), pairings allow the animals to run off their excess energy without draining the ownerâ€™s.Â Â
This week, after The Golden Girls hosted a Wednesday nightÂ benefit for Rocket Dog Rescue, the idea returned. So moved was I by a plea from the volunteer-run, five-year-old animal rescue nonprofit, adoption â€“ or at least fostering a pet â€“ once again became a very real possibility.
That same evening, with thoughts of a new addition to my family dancing in my head, I received a surprise Facebook message. â€śYouâ€™re doing the Golden Girls again?â€ť read an email from an old flame, â€śBreak a leg. Know that I think of you often and always with considerable fondness.â€ťÂ
It caught me quite off-guard, I will confess, as I had not thought of this man for many months. The last time, in fact, was when I saw him bouncing along Octavia Blvd., an area we strolled hand-in-hand on one of our first dates.Â
Ours was not an extensive romance last summer, but it had been sweet. He was sincere, generous, and extremely open with his friends about my life as a drag performer. It all seemed to be going smoothly until I invited him to one of my events. There, in an incident which proved both embarrassing and hurtful, he got overly-friendly with a handsome man he assured me was â€śjust a friend.â€ť - â€śMy friends and I are very close like that,â€ť he told me at the time. â€śWell, mine arenâ€™t!â€ť I snapped - and so ended that.Â
Now, nearly a year later, he had returned to my life like Piggy fetching a tennis ball. And just like that tennis ball analogy, I knew the game - though I was not sure whether I wanted to play. However, I could not help but wonder, Perhaps I am to learn something this time I had not the first?Â
By Sunday afternoon, before heading to the theatre to close the second sold-out weekend of The Golden Girls, all thoughts of dating vanished temporarily as I hit the corner of 18th & Castro with Rocket Dog. Sitting with the groupâ€™s volunteers, holding one of nearly two dozen pets rescued just the night before from certain death in a Bakersfield shelter, my heart melted. Feeling bones jutting through tangled fur, I couldnâ€™t help myself. Two hours later, in what was rare for both the rescue organization and myself, I was taking home a 12-year-old West Highland Terrier/poodle foster named Duffy.Â
Jordan, for obvious reasons, has proven suspicious of Duffy, who has been bathed, brushed and pampered. Because he was so malnourished, heâ€™s been given canned dog food, which Piggy only gets as a treat. Duffy has been allowed to sleep in Jordanâ€™s old bed, with a favorite blanket to keep him warm. He gets snacks and shares time with me. The plan is to nurse Duffy back to health only until we can find him a â€śforever home.â€ťÂ
Of course, Jordan has no way of knowing this, so his jealous little heart is racing. And while it is all for nothing, I can understand exactly how he might feel that way.Â
When my old flame contacted me over the weekend to â€śhang out,â€ť which entailed a night of slightly more than platonic cuddling, I couldnâ€™t release old feelings of frustration and jealousy myself. For much of our time together I was uneasy and distant, a fact not lost on him. Unfortunately, the best I could do is offer to see him again and hope something changes.
Meanwhile, Jordan seems to be warming to Duffy. At his age, Duffy merely wants to relax and lay around, which makes him no real threat to what Piggy loves the most: playtime. As Jordan races after the tennis ball unopposed in the park, I once again see the similarities between our situations.
Sometimes you have to accept some metaphorical dirt and slobber on the tennis ball if you want to play the game, I thought. And now, as I sit with an unanswered text message on my iPhone log from that old flame, I also see how my pet and I differ.Â
For Jordan, the back-and-forth is a game he enjoys. Not so much for me. I think Iâ€™ll just let this ball roll past. If I have learned anything about life from my dog and every dog park weâ€™ve ever visited, another with a little less grit is never far behind.
Vote to See â€śThe Glamazonâ€ť on Season 2 of RuPaulâ€™s Drag Race: http://RuPaulCasting.com/people/PolloDelMarÂ