The Ugliest Bully

My faith in the human race wavered today for a moment.  On a social media news-site a thread dedicated to a grieving mom was desecrated by the most judgemental adults I have ever in all my days had the misfortune to encounter.  I got as far as ten comments into the thousands before I slammed the top down on my laptop and cried. I wanted to say something but my words would be lost in a mountain of cruelty.

I don’t cry. I work around death daily, around pain and around the misfortunes of life and have learned not to cry.

I pulled myself together in the hope that my words will strike home today.

She choked on her words today.  A mom grieving her nine year old boy. I sat and watched her as well I could with tears pooling in my lower lids. She spoke of how she taught her children to be kind, to be gentle and to love everyone. She spoke of how the meanest people are often the ones that hurt so deeply, and how she explained this to her kids. She sat facing a million viewers and she talked about love. Days after her nine year old son took his own life because he was bullied.

“We have to stop hating each other. We have to show more love and compassion in this world… I appreciate this world for letting me have him for the nine years. But I wish I could have had him longer. And I’m pretty sure I could have if we could have just learned to love.”

Her words should have evoked the strongest sense of empathy, of softness and of compassion. Instead an army of adults attacked her for allowing her nine year old son the opportunity to live his life authentically.  Her son was nine. And he had felt supported and loved enough to tell his mom that he was gay. How many children would trust so deeply so as to bring about the revelation. And how does his sexual orientation turn what should be mature adults into a thread full of vile hate filled bullies of a nature I have never witnessed before.

Accusing a parent of bad parenting because the child felt protected and loved. Perhaps a mirror would be beneficial to all the evil that was being spewed across the social media site. A mirror to gaze closely at your own face as your fingers flew to the beat of your horribly disfigured hearts.

The bad parents are YOU. The bad leaders, the bad role models. The bad adults.

You are the worst kind of bully. Incapable of healing from your own wounds you inflict them onto others. You had a job to do in this lifetime. To learn to be kinder than some were to you. To learn that your status in life does not afford you the right to your disgusting narrative. To learn that your anger should be directed toward injustice not at a nine year old boy because he was gay.

All I saw was reference to his sexual identity. No room at all in their hearts for a child, hurt and terrified. All they saw was a gay child. And the reaction was swift, sure and as fatal as the wounds that inflicted his own death.

His nine year old suicide. What part of that did these “adults’ miss before they rampaged like wild savages against the child’s orientation.

A child took his own life. He was nine. He enjoyed making people smile. He was nine years old. He was not his identity sexually or otherwise. He was a little boy. And all they saw was gay.  And that was reason enough to be bullied into death. What other reasons will we find  now that this precedent has been set? Eye color? Hair color? Left handed?  Right handed? Where does the mass approval for bullying begin and end?

They should be hanging their heads in shame. Although I am not a fan of the term karma, I will assure you that at some point in their sorry journey forward that it will most certainly pay a visit.

And in keeping with moms wishes to love one another and be kind, I will extend my hopes to them all that when  karma visits, that they are met with the love and support that this little boy deserved and did not receive.

I will finish with….

Get your sanctimonious, holier than thou faces out of your asses and pick up a mirror. What will look back at you is a BULLY.  And it’s not pretty. And that’s what you should hate.  Your dark heart is staring at you. You might want to clean that mess up.

They are not worthy of my kindness. But I will be kind anyway. For the memory of a nine year old boy names James Myles.  He died living his genuine self.  Let’s not let him down now.


An Open Letter From The Happy Dog

Dear Humans,


My name is Molly. I am almost 8 years old and have lived in the same home with the same people since they chose me when I was just a floppy eared bundle of curls and curiosity.  I ruined no less than a dozen sets of shoes and about ten hairbrushes during my formative days, peed on the carpet about a hundred times and slowly learned to live in a family of humans.  I have recently become a big sister to my male counterpart Scooby, who is learning the ropes but much slower than I ever did. My mum refers to him often as being cute but as “dumb as a post” and often she calls on me to teach him some good old fashioned dog sense.  “Molly, for the love of God would you straighten him out please!”

I am trying my best but he is the dog version of the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. Flopping about like a gumby doll singing out “If I only had a brain”  But one day…we’ll work it out. This is my little brother below. My mum thought the one blue and one brown eye might be unique. She clearly didn’t think that one through at all because he certainly is uniquely something. But, he is smart when it comes to me, saving me from my own silliness when I dove into some choppy lake water recently, so I will cut him some slack and we’ll keep him even if he is a goofball. scooby

I am a very lucky and grateful part of this family.  My life extends far beyond the barriers of a huge backyard and daily walks, my human family are like gypsy’s often off on new adventures of which I have become a part.  It’s a great life and I am loving every moment of it. I am a water dog and have had the opportunity to jump into almost every body of water that exists across Canada. From the Pacific Ocean and into the Atlantic if there is water nearby we pull over to allow me my fix and off we go even though my wet and smelly fur is ruining the back seat upholstery.. My brother Scooby is just an idiot so the long trips are for me alone. Until he learns that he is not allowed to sit on the drivers lap he will remain behind with extended family. I sure do hope one day he settles it down so he can enjoy the same excitement I get when I know a trip is looming.

My letter is for all of those people we have met along the way. For those people who don’t see my life for what it really is. Those people that stood outside of our SUV last week with their cell phones in hand ready to turn my parents in for being bad dog owners. As I sat staring at you through one of the four FULLY OPEN windows from my perch beneath that big tree where my dad totally illegally parked…so he could help my mum drag groceries and the twenty five pounds of dog food to the car.  I was perfectly OK. It was a breezy day, the sun was shining and my head was happily hanging from the window.  If I had, for any moment, felt that I was uncomfortable, I have the common sense to leap from that window and stand quietly at the side of the car.  We travel a lot so we figured it out. Dad circles and circles until he finds the perfect spot for shade.  They leave all my windows open and they go for no more than ten minutes. They eat every meal in the car with me…or we stop and find a quiet spot and we all get out to enjoy it.

Or the lady who saw me as I dragged my dad up the street the other day….there was water…and when I see water I want to get into that water at all costs. My shoulder harness was not strangling me, and my heavy panting was the result of my determination to break free and run straight for that ocean in front of me. That panting begins the moment I smell water. Every. Single. Time. I am not dying..I am not thirsty and I am not mistreated. I am excited and I want to run.  But..I am traveling with small children that day, they are hungry and we need to stop to feed them french fries. My need to swim must wait, so I am asked to lay down quietly at the picnic table. And that’s when you noticed me. And determined that I was thirsty even though my parents both informed you that I had just had two full bottles of water from the car. You shook your head like you didn’t believe them and continued on about how my panting was definitely thirst, because clearly no one else in the world knows how to treat a dog like you do.  So you got to the ground beside me and coddled me in my mistreatment, poured me water of which I had absolutely no interest and continued to ignore what my parents were telling you.

And that was unfair.  I understood that you lost your own dog recently and that you were a dog lover but your tears were a source of great confusion to the two small children that were eating french fries. I don’t believe you even noticed them in your bid to save me from my bad owners that afternoon.  My mum sympathized with your pain yet you still gave her that look that suggested she could do better for me. And that isn’t fair.

My parents have conversed over whether bringing me along is a good idea anymore. And that breaks my heart. Because people are so quick to race to judgement I may not have the opportunity to spend my last years racing from one coast to the next. I may have to stand now and watch as they pull away. And that’s not fair.

Dear Humans,

If you see me in a hot car with the windows up, thank you for caring enough to try to release me. If you see me in a car on a balmy day with the windows down, please consider that my own humans are being mindful of my well being and exercise some common sense instead of judgement.

If you think I may be thirsty, certainly offer some water, but do not ignore my family when they assure you that I am being a drama queen and pulling. Do not shoot sideways glances that indicate your disbelief that I am anything less than well cared for.

My parents are dog lovers just like you are.  And I love them because they include me in their adventures. And I would like to continue to be a part of these adventures until such a time that I can no longer physically do so.  Mistreating me would be to take that away from me and the continual rush to judgements are making it more uncomfortable with every trip we take.

Exercise some common sense in all situations. If I am clearly in distress then by all means take measures to relieve me of this situation.  My family will do the same for your pet.

Stop judging what you do not understand. My life is a good one. I am happy, I am healthy and I am well treated.  And above all. I am loved.

Maybe next year the goofball can join us. We’ll see.

Love Molly.molly ocean

Caged Heart : The “ME” Mentality

An Open Letter To The Me Mentality


My heart aches for yours…your heart trapped behind cages….

I actually feel sorry for you. If you are one of the thousands that I see expressing your support for the inhumane treatment of children then I truly express my sorrow toward the existence that created your sense of superior.  What a difficult journey you have ahead of you in your belief that by virtue of race, religion, or geographical birth that you are somehow better and more deserving of the best that life can offer.

How incredibly sad I am that your own sense of what is right and what is wrong is so easily influenced by celebrity or political stature.  How the call to take care of ME is so loud that any compassion is drowned by the rantings of delusion.  I pity each of you that allows for children to be placed in cages for it is no more than a testament of where your own hearts live daily.

How limiting it must feel living a  life that will not grow beyond your own self importance or sense of entitlement. To have it tangled in twisted beliefs that have tied it down to nothing more than your ego.  I simply cannot imagine living a lifetime purely devoted to what YOU need to have a happy life.

There are children in cages. And perhaps they exist beyond the boundaries of one country.  I don’t know with certainty that they do not. I can only assume that given our sad state of humanity that the possibility does exist, and therefore I am not making this letter specific to one population.

I am, however making this specific to one current situation that is playing out on the borders of our closest neighbor.

And the reason is quite simple.

Because, at this particular junction of time this is the current situation in place. And throughout this current moment there are shouts of anger and hatred being leveled at parents who were warned that this might occur.

Imagine for a moment being a parent who understands such a risk yet risks it regardless…

To try to give their children what your children have…

By virtue of race, religion or geographical birth.

And the best we can do is judge them.

And put children in cages to punish them.

I think it’s time to get over ourselves.  To bring our hearts out of hiding.

And to stop following the leader into a history that shames us all.

“Don’t drink the Kool-Aid”