Tales from the Sidelines

Fall 96

As two Shih-Tzus living in Manhattan, we have always tried to stay current, but recently we've learned that we're really trendy -- ADD has touched our lives. Our owner (we call her "Mom") was diagnosed with this condition some time ago. We had always known that she was very special, but we didn't know that it had a name or that it was such a big deal. All we knew is that our Mom is the best dog owner in the whole neighborhood. Not only does she talk to us *all* the time, play with us whenever we want and let us jump on the furniture, she also seems to be the only dog- mom who really understands what a dog needs and wants.

There's a Lhasa Apso down the block. We feel so sorry for him. That poor thing must get brushed every day! His hair is so straight and silky that he can't keep any good stuff in it. We've got sturdy mats where a small piece of dog yummy can easily hide. (Well, dogs don't have purses - where else are we gonna'' keep stuff we might want for later?) Mom understands. Sometimes when she's in a mood, she might threaten to find the brush. But why worry about something that hasn't happened yet? And what about the "B" word (...BATH!)? Some dogs we know shake with fear whenever they hear it. But not us! Sure, Mom talks about it, but we've learned that words can't put soap in your mouth.

Our Mom is real good natured. Sure, sometimes she gets crazy mad at inanimate objects, but never at us. One night we jumped onto her bed and got into a friendly disagreement on her pillow. She never even woke up. The next morning when she had some Shih- Tzu hairs stuck to her face cream, she just made a face and said, "I MUST make time to do laundry!" She never blames us -- even when it's our fault.

There was another time when we got to being a little wild and tipped over the wastepaper basket in her home office. Papers scattered everywhere, and we played in it 'til we heard her key in the lock. We thought she might get upset about this one (she seems to have a thing about papers), but all she said was "I can't believe I'm such a mess!" Then she hugged us.

One of our favorite things is a game she plays with us called "Oh damn I forgot about the dog food." That phrase announces the game while she goes into a flurry whipping up something creative for dinner -- rice and beans, ground beef and eggs, cornflakes -- sometimes she even orders from the chicken place! Another variation of this game is played with dog yummies. We especially love the pork rinds.

When we get ready to go out for walks, sometimes Mom acts like she can't get the leashes untangled. Or she says she forgot where she put them. So we all traipse off to the street - unleashed just like people, while she goes on and on about risking jail time for the leash law! That's how much she loves us. It's our very favorite game.

So it's clear to us that ADD humans are superior in every way. They never get upset with dogs, they are very creative, lots of fun, and never controlling. In fact, we feel sorry for everybody without an ADD Mom. We figure ADD stands for "A Dog's Dream."

Bandit & Tabitha received word processing help from JANINE BAKER, a writer in New York who does word processing for animals and inanimate objects as a sideline.

ED. NOTE: Bandit & Tabitha have threatened to take over this column unless we get some submissions from other non-ADDers with a story to share. Send submissions to support@addcoach.com

Summer 96

I love women. I loved her. She was dazzling, exiting, brilliant. She was also, I was convinced, nuts.

She was never less than one hour late. In fact, I was grateful when she was no more than one hour late. I heard myself saying that a woman that beautiful should never wear make-up, and that I preferred her hair in a pony tail. I said I thought those black legging things with that tee shirt with the sparkles on it would go anywhere. Yes, these were manipulative little white lies, but I wanted to see the beginning of the $60.00-a-ticket shows I'd paid for.

And she tried. She was always sorry. Very sorry. She cried and said it would never happen again. I think she really meant it every time, but I was convinced she just didn't care enough to follow through.

I felt like an ADD abuse victim. The problem was, neither of us had ever heard of ADD..

I've always earned fairly good money. She could barely keep a job. PLEASE know that I do not expect a woman to cook and clean. It didn't really bother me to pay many of her expenses and I really didn't expect anything in return. I just requested that if she was going to be at home alone all day she wouldn't make things *worse*.

When she tried to reorganize our closets one Friday I came back to clothes scattered throughout the apartment and a beaming girlfriend. There was also a beautifully repainted bedroom ("Doesn't it look better? It looked so shabby!") and splintered doweling ("The saw broke."). We spent the weekend trying to put everything back the way it was. By noon on Saturday we finally made it to the hardware superstore to replace the saw and buy new closet rods -- and matching hangers, and more paint, and $220 worth of organizer dodads, and a new shower curtain. "What's wrong with us," she cried between arguments, "why can't we live together like normal people?!"

Sunday evening, once the last shirt was back in place, I suggested we go out to dinner. She was too upset. When she reached for another cup of coffee I suggested a nice calming glass of milk. Years later we learned that caffeine helped her focus and dairy products exacerbated her symptoms, but that Sunday evening I mopped up milk while she sobbed in the master bathroom. By the end of the week I agreed to hire a professional organizer to do our closets. By that time she was retiling the master bathroom.

I read "How To Live With A Neurotic" and yearned to be with one of those neurotic women -- they seemed so uncomplicated and cooperative. She thought I was kidding. And she was highly offended when I tried some of the tips from the book. The flowers helped.

I know we both remember exactly where we were during the Great Orange Juice Incident. From the front lines of battle it is hard to remember the exact details. I recall only fragments of a crowded refrigerator, "disorganized shelves" ("Its a refrigerator not a filing cabinet!"), crazy accusations ("You took the orange juice, just admit it!"), self- defense ("It's right there on the shelf!") and counter-accusations.

I don't see it. What do you think I am, crazy?"

HERE, right here. Orange juice!!!!"

You just put that there! You are trying to drive me crazy!"

After that my memory gets fuzzy. All I remember from that point on is splattered juice, tears, my suggestion she needed glasses, stains on my tux, and a ship- wrecked black tie evening that was the beginning of the end.

Two years after we broke up she called me with her diagnosis. We met for lunch and poured over written materials that described her to a "T". There had been a reason for her behavior -- besides us.There had been something wrong -- besides us. Sadly, we looked at each other and tried not to cry over spilled juice. By then we had gone on with our lives and our relationships. She will always be my friend.

Would we still be together if we had known about ADD sooner? I can't say.

Do I wonder? Every day of my life.

Spring 96

I used to be late quite often. I'd lend money that I really didn't have. Sometimes, in an effort to finish a task, I got so sleepy I couldn't even see. I know what it is to spend six hours in a grocery store. No, I do not have ADD. My best friend does.

For eight years we didn't know what was wrong. But we both knew that she seemed unable to run her own life. I got about five hours of sleep a night trying to run her life along with my own.

"Try therapy," I said, convinced it was all the result of unresolved conflicts. Therapy did help. She worked through a lot of stuff and ended up having a lot more choices. Oh goody. An undiagnosed ADDer with more choices. I was now getting about THREE hours of sleep.

Unfortunately, I was never the kind of person who'd think to teach anyone else to fish. "Look," I'd rather say, "I'll come over every night with fresh catch, cook it for you and leave a nice seafood casserole for lunch." Being co-dependent is NOT a good thing with an ADDer. If you "help" in that way, eventually you will die from lack of sleep or become so completely controlling no one will be able to stand you.

Life with an ADD best friend is never dull. Once we decided to make upscale children's pinafores to sell at the local flea market. (I know, I know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.) We started by shopping for remnant lace. We spent five and a half hours in one store looking at remnant lace. A security guard did nothing that afternoon except watch us look at remnant lace. Unable to decide, she bought $118.00 worth of remnant lace.

We chose white muslin sheeting for the basic apron. A discounted king size sheet comes in dimensions of 66x118". After drafting a cutting/measurement plan that rivaled any blueprint designed by NASA, she determined the optimal cutting pattern. She did the math. Each pinafore could sell for $35.00 and net us a $30 profit.

We worked non-stop for a month. I managed to sneak in two hours of sleep a night. My friend, who I'd secretly diagnosed as manic/depressive, resented that she had to sleep at all. I did the math. Figuring in our time, each pinafore needed to sell for $225.00 for us to break even.

Yet I kept going. Was this MY dysfunction? My psychiatrist says yes. But the jubilant, electric charge was contagious. We laughed, worked and talked, both of us high on HER adrenaline.

The day she discovered that she suffered from ADD life changed. Suddenly there were reasons -- explanations for why she marched not only to a different drummer, but to an entirely different melody. I used to think I really knew what was best for her. If she'd just do things my way she could get control of her life! But I've learned that the ADDer does not see or hear the same reality I do. In fact, no one does, and in that we are all islands. But with our loved ones we can be a federation of allied islands, learning to share experiences.

Watching (and sometimes helping) her develop systems to handle her ADD has been inspiring. It is not our RESPONSIBILITY to share the challenges of our friends. It is our privilege.

JANINE BAKER is a writer/performer living in New York City. She submitted this article on a legal pad. Janine will write articles for anyone willing to work in this format. She can only be reached by snail mail.