Down the Google Rabbit Hole

I awoke yesterday and found myself in something akin to a Steven King movie, just without the popcorn, the large Diet Coke, and an Exit door. Meanwhile my pups were jumping about on the bed, enthusiastically, as if exclaiming "Good Morning, It's another wonderful day! Can we go for a walk now? Can we? Can we?" However, before I gave in to their demands, my first action was to get my phone, turn my 5:30 alarm off before the obnoxiously merry tune started, and then check my email. Well, I TRIED to check my email. I could not open it. Phones can be temperamental so I dismissed that, climbed out of bed, and took the pups on their morning constitutional.

After that was done, they were fed, and I had made my first cup of iced cappuccino, I sat down at my laptop to start my morning pre-shower ritual. First - check email. This is where the White Rabbit appeared. A blue and white Google screen came up and simply said, "We have detected an issue with your Google Account and it has been deleted."  I immediately went to a clean Google search screen, typed in the Gmail url and entered my username. It said, "No account found with that email address. Please try again."  

I "Googled" 'Deleted Gmail account'.  Not only was my email gone, so were my contacts, my blog, my pictures, and anything else I had connected with Google. In other words I no longer existed. Now I was down the hole with the Cheshire Cat. And, to matters worse, I only had, at most, 48 hours, to figure out how to recover it before the Lords at Google deleted it forever and there was no going back through the Looking Glass.

Quickly, I logged into my Blog, it no longer existed. There was no link to my picture, no way to access Photos, nor my contacts that were attached to my email. To add to this madness, one of my laptops is a Chromebook that only works off my Google Cloud account so the morning was now officially a Mad Tea Party and the Croquet field was in sight.

Next I "Googled" 'How do I recover my Google account?' Basically I saw entry after entry of horror stories from folks like me who found themselves greeted with that ominous message. To make it worse, the Google forum, started, "This will not be easy, but there is a 15 step process. Start with this url . . . "  (Hell, AA only has 12 steps!)

So, I entered the url, prayed to the gods of the internet, and waited. The first question: Your username - done. It moved to No. 2 (this was encouraging). Second question: Last exact date you were able to log into your account: - done, yesterday before. On to No.3 (I finally breathed - there was hope.) Then the Queen of Hearts appeared - 'What was the date you first opened your Google account?'

Are they sh*%%*$3 me? Going back to the forum they suggested I go back to earlier email accounts and check for the initial email from Google congratulating me on my new account. No problem - except there was a problem - both my old Yahoo and Hotmail accounts had gone through changes and only retained the past 24 months of emails. 

Best I could come up with was that I got my Gmail account before Google went "live" with the program. In other words, I was one of their first users (among many millions I am sure). Best guess was summer of 2005. Great - the summer has three months in it.

I took a deep breath and entered "August 2005". It accepted my answer and I moved on. 12 questions to go. The forum went on to say one of these would be - the 3 addresses you email most often, and other questions only the account holder could answer. This not bode well.

Then there was a light at the end of the tunnel - a Log In screen appeared with my username asking me to create a new password. I carefully did so, and I was back among the living. I checked my contacts, pictures, saved folders, blog, etc. It was all there, as if it had been a bad dream. 

Being anal about my photography, I back up my regular laptop redundantly to 2 external hard drives, as well as the cloud. Lesson learned, now I will also back up my email and contacts. Google is the best thing since sliced bread and Google is the worse thing since mankind discovered sugar. Can we live without it? Not very well. A bit of advice from the Caterpillar - back it up and, for God's sake, find out the date (month/year) you first opened your account and you should be OK. If you can get to step 3, you will be home.

I also learned that there should have been a notification sent via text to my phone or emailed to a third party (in this case my daughter) advising of this issue. At that point I would have been given the chance to change my password and the meeting with the Queen would have been avoided. However, in my case, I never got the warning and the account went down in 18 hours.

Off the grid is one thing, off Google is a nightmare - like it or not.

A World Away on My Morning Walk

 Each morning I awake at 5:30. Shortly there after the pups and are out on our constitutional. It is always dark and these days can be quite chilly. The temperatures can vary from 32 to the mid 50's. Usually I throw on a pair of sweat pants, shirt and a sweat shirt. My hair is a mess. After all it is dark and rarely, if ever, do we see anyone. 

Usually I listen to the news, a podcast, or a movie on my phone while we walk. I find it gives me more patience with pups while they want to stop and smell every bush and telephone pole along the way. A 5 minute walk becomes a 20 minute expedition. God forbid a homeless cat has found refuge under a parked car or a confused squirrel is up and about. At that point all bets are off.

This morning I realized the juxtaposition of life. My choice of entertainment on my phone was a documentary, "7 Days Out". The particular episode was on the Channel Show at Paris Fashion week. It is a particularly interesting look into a life extremely foreign to me.  While I walk the pups, often trying to get them to move on past some marked plant, avoid the stray cat, or bag their poop, I am listening to the days running up to Paris Fashion Week.

There are interviews with Karl Lagerfeld describing the brand and what is entailed in preparing for the show. There is much discussion about couture gowns, elegant models, and the rich and famous who are invited to enjoy the runway from the front row. 

Lagerfeld also goes into the details of the inspiration for his elegant designs. Some how, I doubt a woman of my age, dressed in sweat pants, with unkempt hair, and 2 unruly terriers chasing feral cats comes close to any inspiration Mr. Lagerfeld may have. In fact, I doubt such a scene has ever entered his mind.  

Joggers and Headlights, Oh My!

 When friends of mine talk about  "over sleeping" and missing their morning alarm, I cannot relate. It is hard for me to oversleep due to my two little alarm clocks - Ellie and Marshall. Every morning at 5:30, it is as if their little Mickey Mouse watches go off. If I am not awake Ellie will start nudging me, as much to solicit me to scratch her face as to wake me up. Marshall, on the other hand, will climb on top of me and gently pat me with is left paw, as to say "Let's go!"

When I can sleep late, it becomes a negotiation. I will scratch Ellie's face hoping to mollify her enough that she will settle down and nap. If I ignore Marshall long enough, he will crawl under the covers in defeat and go back to sleep. But the stand off is short lived and shortly we are up and about. Time to get dressed and go out for our morning constitutional. 

With the days being shorter and dawn coming a bit later every morning, it is now totally dark when we leave the house. There are 2 choices for our walk - the street that runs in front of my place and the street (more of an alley) that runs behind it. Each carries its own perils, depending on the time of day. Getting out at 6 am or later, means that others will also be out with their pooches. The lady with her large Sheppard mix and the distinguished looking old man with his well behaved Jack Russell will be out and about on their morning walk out back. Any time around 7:00 - 7:15, the older gentlemen 2 doors down will have his Ellie, an older Australian Sheppard mix, out front.

Usually, we are out earlier so we do not have to negotiate these obstacles. Don't get me wrong, I am social and these neighbors are very friendly. Unfortunately, Marshall, with his Napoleon complex will take offense that these other canines are also taking their constitutional. With all of his 10 inch height (he is a full size Yorkshire Terrier, and no, that is not an oxymoron) he will channel his inner canine, bark, and lunge on his leash as if he is going to take these interlopers down. Any person familiar with canine behavior will see his wildly wagging tail and understand his ruse. 

So each morning I must make a strategic decision - the front or the back. Lately, we have been out early enough to take a nice stroll down the front sidewalk free of any canine encounters. However, just when I think there will be peace in the morning, there is a new threat - early morning joggers. Being pitch black dark they are wearing head lamps as they come down the street.

So the game is afoot. If I see them first, which can be difficult given they usually are coming up behind me, I can start telling Marshall, "It's OK, it's OK Marshall keep calm." If neither of us are surprised by a jogger, this will usually pacify him. However, this all becomes an issue when we are both surprised. I doubt any of the runners feel threatened, given Marshall's small stature. Often I doubt they can even see his small self as he barks loudly in the dark. I, on the other hand, am mortified that I have such an unruly pet. 

Then this can become a game of cat and mouse. If I see the jogger's light bouncing in the dark, I can manage to be standing beside one of the parked cars, shielding the jogger from Marshall's eyesight. Another strategy is to turn into a neighbor's yard, making my way to the back, all the while steering Marshall's attention away from the jogger. 

All in all, what should be a relaxing way to start my morning can be very stressful. Often my next door  neighbor leaves for work during this bewitching hour. If his departure coincides with our return, Marshall will also bark loudly at him. However, he understands dogs. Instead of trying to avoid Marshall, he will approach my unruly terrier, stoop down and offer his hand. Marshall will immediately stop his barking, wag his tail, and happily accept his kind words and scratches on his head. We exchange pleasantries, I apologize for Marshall's behavior, and we go on our ways.

In contrast to Marshall's deportment, Ellie is always friendly, usually quiet with her little stubby tail wagging as hard as it can. I doubt she cares about Marshall's antics. She is simply trying to solicit attention, as if to say, "Look at me, please pet me, just ignore him". Her unruly black hair (keep in mind Toto was also a Cairn Terrier) makes her look like a street urchin as opposed to Marshall's flowing grey and tan coat. With all his antics, Ellie feels neglected. It is as if she is saying, "Don't mind him, he is just full of 'sound and fury, signifying nothing'."

Walking the Dog - Not Just a Yoyo Trick

Let me make one thing straight - a fenced in back yard is highly under rated. For years as a dog owner, "putting the dogs out" entailed opening the back door and letting them run past you. The only hardships were when it was a cold morning and you felt the freezing weather on your face when you opened the door or the frustration of them scrambling around your feet to see who was going first.

Those were the salad days, the carefree times when I was innocent - the years I never appreciated. When I moved to Charleston and brought Ellie with me, we had a new reality. The first morning at 5:30 I awoke to a furry face looking at me with this, "Well, are you taking me out or what?" look. 

It was cold outside, I was still sleepy, and "going out" was now a participation sport. So I got up, pulled on some decent warm clothes, put her leash on her and we headed out the door for her morning constitutional. Now, I will say, Ellie is very good on a leash - when it suits her.  However, like a determined Sumo wrestler, she can just stop, dig her little feet in and no one is going anywhere. That is until she decides she wants to. 

Thankfully, I live in a wonderful neighborhood. I do not need a bigger dog with a bigger chip on her shoulder than 10 inch tall Ellie who, bless her heart, never got the memo that she falls in the "little dog" class. She definitely has the Napoleon Complex.

Marshall, on the other hand, can be schizophrenic. One moment he is this sweet little thing making his way down the street tail wagging and then, at a moment's notice, my fiercest defender. This is the point when I think he is on a suicide mission. It doesn't matter how loud he barks, how menacing his growl is, or how hard he pulls on his leash, the pair of Golden Doodles around the block are not going to be phased, the black lab 2 doors down is not going to really care, and, should he engage the elegant Weimaraner down the street, he is going to lose every time. 

Even the squirrels and chipmunks know the score. They know the dogs are on a leash that is only so long. It is not unusual for a squirrel to dash across our path just a few feet ahead. There is one daring chipmunk, who will sit on the grass calmly eating his nut in full view of us as we walk by. Ellie's lunges and Marshall's antics do not phase the little thing at all. 

There is the other "Ellie", a lovely older Australian Sheep Dog, who is faithfully walked every morning at 7 and again every evening around 6. If we are venturing out at that time, we go out the back door and walk down the private road that runs behind us. Best let Ellie, the sheep dog, enjoy her constitutional in peace.

We have established our route. We know the characters on the block.  We know the house that has the Brittany Spaniel that sits by the front window and move quickly by that door, hoping to go by unnoticed. There is the regular schedule of the little old man who wears a funny hat and his well behaved Jack Russell - best avoid them less I be humiliated by my pups' antics.

Don't get me wrong, friendly folks are always stopping and noting Ellie and Marshall's perky little terrier personalities. Neighbors are quick to acknowledge them. One kind lady even has treats ready to share with them should she be on her deck when we pass. 

However, the one variable in the calculus that I have no control over is the yellow Cheshire cat who often lies in wait. I have no clue as to when or where she will make her presence known. So each time I open the door and we venture out, the games are afoot and hopefully our timing will be favorable.