I can

I have been online and written about the Internet since it’s inception but I am not sure I will ever quite get used to it. Earlier this week, I asked our vet if she knew the precise date of Red’s birth, she and I both wanted to know his exact age.

When she asked me, I just mumbled something about eight or nine years. I’ll look it up, she said.

I am bad with grammar and numbers –  I flunked 4th grade math four times, and in the Providence, R.I. public schools even likely serial killers passed fourth grade math. My teacher wept when he gave my mother the news.

At various times, i’ve written that Red has been with me five years, four years, seven years.

The truth is, I have no idea.

Maria and I – I have this sneaking hunch we are both no strangers to a kind of mild autism – spent a half an hour the other day trying to figure out how long Red has been with us, and we not only couldn’t figure that out we couldn’t even figure out how long we’ve lived on our new farm.

That’s how bad it is. We do not let these handicaps defeat us, we plow on.

I’ve written many times that Red was seven when he came to me, but since I couldn’t remember how old he was, I didn’t think about how that worked out.

This morning, Maria went back on my blog (I never go back on my blog, part of my disabilities, I think, I live only in the now) and found an entry dated June 18th, 2012, about Red’s First Day at the farm.

I was astonished.

So Red was about five years old when I got him, and he has been with us five years going on six, which makes him ten (like the AKC certificate says.)

Like a lot of creative people with learning disabilities, I can focus intensely on certain tasks – like writing and photography. But I can’t do long division or multiply. Or remember dates or details or names. Miscalculations, misspellings, inaccurate counts are endemic to my work, part of the circus that is me.

But here I am, still functioning and in business and cranking it out, living my life. I bet that’s more than my depressed math teacher could say.

I write a lot, forget a lot and get confused a lot, and don’t even start with old talk, I’ve been like this my whole life. A college counselor told me just before I dropped out of school that I was one walking undiagnosed learning disability, probably several.

And I am undiagnosed because I refuse to be tested, I dislike labels. A prominent ADD counselor I met in New York City offered me money to be his patient.

The day after I looked at the AKC certificate that Dr. Karen Thompson gave me,  and learned that Red was ten, and could not have been seven when he came (I never asked Karen Red’s age and suspect I never knew it), i got the inevitable grumpy message from a reader we shall call Carol, as I don’t wish to make her feel any worse than she hopefully does, but probably doesn’t.

It said simply: “You had Red in 2012 with Simon. If he was seven when you got him that makes him 12.” Then, she added. “Time goes by faster than we realize. I hope that is the case. I never know to believe what you write or not. I know, don’t read it..”

So here we were, my chaotic head was suddenly a controversy. I could ignore it, deny it, or get drawn into it. I  wrote back, politely, I thought, that I’ve never been good at math, and if she didn’t believe me because of that, best she didn’t read me, it will just get worse.

I do write a lot, am doing a lot, and am easily distracted.

I don’t know if it’s an excuse or not, but it’s the truth. I did have the decency to laugh. in a time when powerful and successful men are being called out almost daily for behavior ranging from the vile to the insensitive, I was being called out for screwing up Red’s age.

This is life in the Fish Bowl, Small Fry Department..

My slightly sarcastic message didn’t fly with Carol.  I can be snarky about messages like this, I’m working on it. She was, of course, offended.

Carol wrote back in a huff wondering why I didn’t just say it was a misprint or a mistake, as it obviously was. She had a point of course, she was right,  but I found her message annoying – perhaps people with disabilities get overly defensive.

She seemed to be suggesting a willful and deliberate falsification. And was it really her business how old my dog is or was?

“I am trying to put myself in your place and think of getting corrections from people,” Carol added, “I guess that wouldn’t be much fun. Then she added that despite my protestations, ” I do believe Red is 12 to 13, and that is a crucial age for dogs. I know mine died and I haven’t been physically able to take care of another. You are lucky to have them.”

Ah, her dog..there is always another dog in there somewhere. He was just waiting for his cue.

I pondered this a bit, I do try to please people – sometimes.

If I had known it was a mistake, I would, of course, have admitted it and moved on. Thanks to Carol, at least I finally know when Red came and how old he is, although we all know when I mention this again in a month, i am likely to mess it up again, I don’t retain things in the past.

Or much in the present, either.

By then, he might have been with me for 10 years, or three, and be 12 or 15 years of age. I will not remember  a word of this exchange, I think that’s how I survive social media.

Normally, I would be sympathetic to a writer who just lost her dog and is physically unable to take care of another. But that was manipulative, she doesn’t get a pass either. What I actually thought was, I could hardly believe I was taking the time to have this conversation with a stranger insisting that she knew how old my dog is, and me and my vet don’t. Two things I can’t abide, being called stupid or being patronized.

Now I got the absurdity of the whole thing, and my own stupidity for participating in a debate about how old my dog is. In America, everything seems to be an argument, but I don’t have to join in. Why was I taking this seriously?

I wrote back:

“Carol, Red is actually 26, I just miscalculated and the AKC certificate  I just brought to the vet when he was sick is obviously wrong. So you are right, and I’m very sorry about it. Red passed away some years ago, I keep his skeleton in my study and he is staring at me now, as he used to do when I wrote. I am just lying about it because most people are not as savvy as you, and it’s good for the blog,  you clever devil. You take care, J.”

That seemed to work for her. So far, she has not responded.