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One of the things I lost in the divorce - along with my confidence, security, and faith in men - is this guy, Lord Byron. The poodle I found, trained, named, loved, and raised for eight years. Someone once told me that all change involves loss. Unfortunately, some changes involve larger losses than others. I am trying to be philosophical about the losses. Recently, I downloaded books on overcoming grief, the power of letting go, and learning how to practice small habits to achieve remarkable results. Brené Brown. Mel Robbins. James Clear. I have been hanging with the self-help homies, trying to master the subtle art of not giving a f*ck . Some books screamed at me to unleash my inner badass, scaring the self-pity out of me like a beer-swilling, tatted-up, hog-riding Hell's Angel pushing a patron off his bar stool. Call me crazy, but I don't want my life coach to have a trail of teardrops inked on his face. I am not a glutton for punishment. I need a softer, more cer...

Wishes by Amalia K. Lately, I have been feeling like Life has been getting a little too heavy.  Health concerns.  Numerous professional obligations.  Maintaining my sanity (and eroding authority) while living with two clever, rebellious teenagers.  Facing my fear that no amount of expensive French, caviar-infused moisturizer will be able to reverse the withering affect the dry Alaskan air has had on my skin and hair, that I am destined to spend the remainder of my days looking like the Crypt Keeper in a pink pashmina.  And then there's the endless fretting about when the new season of Mad Men will begin.  Add to that the unbelievable shock and sadness that comes each time I look at a new photograph or listen to a new report about the poor, devastated people of Japan , struggling to rebuild some semblance of a life after last week's earthquake and tsunami. Well, it's a lot for one woman to deal with....

My dog is neurotic. I am serious, Molly Muffin, the ten pound schnauzer-poodle mix I have written about in other articles, has issues. I told you that she thinks the ravens that live in the trees in our backyard are her mortal enemies, right? When she sees one, she does this odd Bruce Lee-like vocalization, a high-pitched, warbling “waaaaaa” that can frighten the breath out of someone (especially, let’s say, if they are home alone, at night). Well, after months of fruitless chases across the yard, ending in the ravens flying to the tops of the trees and Molly barking madly, she has adopted a sneakier tactic. She half buries herself in a snowdrift and lies in wait. So far, none of the ravens have fallen for her commando act. Though she is white and blends in with the snow fairly well, I think her long, scraggly, wagging tail gives her away. She’s like a soldier decked out in camouflage, standing in the jungle, waving a flag. I confess, it is great fun to sit on the porch and watch ...

I have a confession to make: crazy dog people always frightened and confused me. You know the ones that speak to their pets in baby-talk, carry photos of Fido in their wallets, or dress their poodles in pink parkas? Honestly, they just used to freak me out. Don’t get me wrong, I have always liked dogs. I just never really bonded with a dog, not on a human level anyway. I mean, you can’t take your schnauzer to the spa or your Newfoundland to Nordstrom’s, can you? Dogs are not allowed in hospitals, grocery stores, movie theaters, or the local Panera Bread Company. This is America, not France. Although the canine-crazy French might disagree with the finding, according to the Coalition for Living Safely with Dogs, “most recent estimates indicate that there are more than 60 million pet dogs in the U.S., more per capita than any other country in the world.” If that is the case, why don’t we revere Rover the way our French counterparts do? In Paris, they even have special street and side...