So, Tug came to visit today. He healed down the walk in on a porch like he owned the place. Kathy saw gun first -- it seems like she always sees him first -- and called out, "Tug's here!" Without Emma, Tug is somewhat less swirly. He came in, and swirled around the place, but at a slower pace. He has a good memory for food, and a great nose. He went looking everywhere he ever had treats, and he tried to paw on anyplace that there were treats. He will sit on command, and sits in trembling anticipation for his treats. He did this on the linoleum floor, and trembled so hard he ended up sliding backwards across its slick surface.
After Tug had some treats, Kathy got one of Oz's old toys, but for Ozma really have never taken to much. It's a largish ball, about the size of a grapefruit, with a built-in cloth handle strap. She threw it for him a few times in the house anyone galloping around. Then, because he seemed to want it, we opened the back sliding door and Kathy started throwing it out in the yard. He brought back to me more often, perhaps because Bob (his owner) throws the ball for them at home. However, he was perfectly willing for Kathy to throw the ball form. We threw a bunch of times and he went sprinting afterwards. After a while, he seemed ready to go. Not anxious really, but ready. So I got my shoes on and filled my pockets with treats. I then walked him home, a walk I'd taken several hundred times with Ozma. Tug was happy as could be. He stayed near me well, pretty near me, near enough. He would come near me so bumping up against it by then swung off to the side of the street to smell something, or to have been muddy water. Then he'd come back, greet me again, maybe nuzzle my hand. Then he went to the other side of the street, where there was more money water to be rolled in. Now, Ozma love the lake. She loved creeks. She loved her little pool. But she only got in mud puddles when it was really really hot there was no other water. Tug doesn't seem to make a distinction. The lower his jaws in the mud like a moose or a duck peeking up a mouthful of self-loathing and drain out of the corner of his jowls. He looks exceptionally silly, and I can imagine keeping a house clean with him in it.
Kathy seems to be getting attached to him. (She's always liked him, and often says we should steal him.) She gets possessive, and wonders if he likes her. He does, more than just about any human outside his family. She gives him treats and makes him welcome. She's happy to see him. What more could a dog want?Greg
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Visitors
So, we had visitors several times over the holidays. To be specific, Tug and Emma have come to visit several times since that first visit. It's gotten to be a normal routine, as well as pretty comical. They just show up. They swirl around on the front porch, waiting to be let in. They are expected; they know that it's allowed.
One of the times that they came, Lisa's dog Bailey was here. I call him Little Fox because he's well little, and fluffy alert and quick. He's very sharp, very smart. However, he matches out at about 20 pounds. Emma is sixtysomething pounds, and half pit bull. Tug is all Labrador, but easily 75 pounds, and super strong. They're just teenage thugs. Tug is like having a jock around, one who doesn't know it's not okay to throw you into the school lockers.
In any case, Bailey went crazy when they were there. He was whining and yipping, and running around trying to get the. Maybe we were overprotective, but we didn't let our visitors in. Instead, I ran them home. Incidentally, they expect this.
I know that they come to be patted, to swirl around the house a look for Ozma, and then I'll take them home. They come with me at least two reasons. First, I run with them. We run together like a big dog pack. I call out, "Come on, Tug," and swing my arm like a swimmer for diving into the surf or some froth of battle. And run gallops after me. Emma that comes to, but more gracefully. They know it's a kind of adventure. I play with them, I rumple them, I push Emma in the snow, and I pushed run around. Now the second reason they come is that I was bring treats. I'm not subtle, and they know that the treats come with. So we run, and when Tug seems to be getting distracted, will lure them back with a treat.
The last time we went down to take them back, Jackson, the other dog, was out. Jackson loves me and I don't get to see him very often anymore. He sort of squinted from a block away then came running towards us working like a big fool.( Jackson weighs 100 pounds.) He ran up to me and sat on my feet repented rolling his head back against me. He's like 100 pound lap cat. So, I showed up on Julie's porch with three big dogs one of them barking all of them swirling all of them wanting treats, all of them wanting in.
Emma still looks for Ozma, I think she always will. Tug, now, Tug seems to have accepted the new state of affairs. That too is sad.
One of the times that they came, Lisa's dog Bailey was here. I call him Little Fox because he's well little, and fluffy alert and quick. He's very sharp, very smart. However, he matches out at about 20 pounds. Emma is sixtysomething pounds, and half pit bull. Tug is all Labrador, but easily 75 pounds, and super strong. They're just teenage thugs. Tug is like having a jock around, one who doesn't know it's not okay to throw you into the school lockers.
In any case, Bailey went crazy when they were there. He was whining and yipping, and running around trying to get the. Maybe we were overprotective, but we didn't let our visitors in. Instead, I ran them home. Incidentally, they expect this.
I know that they come to be patted, to swirl around the house a look for Ozma, and then I'll take them home. They come with me at least two reasons. First, I run with them. We run together like a big dog pack. I call out, "Come on, Tug," and swing my arm like a swimmer for diving into the surf or some froth of battle. And run gallops after me. Emma that comes to, but more gracefully. They know it's a kind of adventure. I play with them, I rumple them, I push Emma in the snow, and I pushed run around. Now the second reason they come is that I was bring treats. I'm not subtle, and they know that the treats come with. So we run, and when Tug seems to be getting distracted, will lure them back with a treat.
The last time we went down to take them back, Jackson, the other dog, was out. Jackson loves me and I don't get to see him very often anymore. He sort of squinted from a block away then came running towards us working like a big fool.( Jackson weighs 100 pounds.) He ran up to me and sat on my feet repented rolling his head back against me. He's like 100 pound lap cat. So, I showed up on Julie's porch with three big dogs one of them barking all of them swirling all of them wanting treats, all of them wanting in.
Emma still looks for Ozma, I think she always will. Tug, now, Tug seems to have accepted the new state of affairs. That too is sad.
Friday, December 26, 2008
You Got a Puppy!
So, Jon's friend Lisa had some family troubles, and came to spend Christmas with us. This meant her little dog Bailey came with us. I've been calling him Little Fox, since he is so sharp-eyed, quick, and fluffy.
Around mid-day on Christmas, due to restlessness and a desire to get some physical activity in on a day of eating, I took Little Fox for a walk. It wasn't a long one—just the Ted Edwards loop, which is a mile and about a quarter. It was tough for him in spots, because, while the snow is melting, there is still about eight inches or so on the ground, with drifts of over a foot and plow piles of two+ feet. This meant a lot of leaping, but since he can essentially hover, that's fine.
The walk was largely without incident—no accidents, no threatening strange dogs, etc.—but also without the pure joy of a W with Oz. What was striking was that we ran into one couple and one man who I'd regularly seen with Oz.
The couple's face lit up. "Look's like you've got a new friend," the husband called, and they grew more guarded when I told them it was just a friend's dog who was visiting. The guy who lives down the street was more direct, calling "You got a puppy!" I said no, it was just a visitor. He repeated, "You got a puppy," and came over to rumple Bailey's light and silky fur.
When I'd returned Emma the other day, Sandy had commented on how they'd seen me with my new puppy, and how happy they'd been. I blinked, and then asked if it was a brown and white dog. When she said yes, I realized it was Ruben. She was chatting about how she'd told Julie, and how happy they were, and…I finally got it straightened out.
I got it straightened out, but I'm again surprised at how happy people are for me, that I have another dog. It's like they see me as incomplete, or, more simply, unhappy without Oz. They are happy for me.
Greg
Around mid-day on Christmas, due to restlessness and a desire to get some physical activity in on a day of eating, I took Little Fox for a walk. It wasn't a long one—just the Ted Edwards loop, which is a mile and about a quarter. It was tough for him in spots, because, while the snow is melting, there is still about eight inches or so on the ground, with drifts of over a foot and plow piles of two+ feet. This meant a lot of leaping, but since he can essentially hover, that's fine.
The walk was largely without incident—no accidents, no threatening strange dogs, etc.—but also without the pure joy of a W with Oz. What was striking was that we ran into one couple and one man who I'd regularly seen with Oz.
The couple's face lit up. "Look's like you've got a new friend," the husband called, and they grew more guarded when I told them it was just a friend's dog who was visiting. The guy who lives down the street was more direct, calling "You got a puppy!" I said no, it was just a visitor. He repeated, "You got a puppy," and came over to rumple Bailey's light and silky fur.
When I'd returned Emma the other day, Sandy had commented on how they'd seen me with my new puppy, and how happy they'd been. I blinked, and then asked if it was a brown and white dog. When she said yes, I realized it was Ruben. She was chatting about how she'd told Julie, and how happy they were, and…I finally got it straightened out.
I got it straightened out, but I'm again surprised at how happy people are for me, that I have another dog. It's like they see me as incomplete, or, more simply, unhappy without Oz. They are happy for me.
Greg
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The Pack Comes For A Visit
Yesterday, around noon, I was headed outside to clean the ice off the porch. As it happens, just send Lily and e-mail and their human came walking by. I went out to say hi, and to play with Dino, ha ha to play with Lily, and found that there was an unexpected treat there. Tug and Emma had followed along. They were going along the side and with Lily and Dino, sometimes playing with Lily sometimes just running along with, leaping over the snow.
When I got out into the street, where I would be visible to the dogs, I called them. Dino didn't come right away, but the rest of them came running, came sprinting, came leaping over the snow in great furry draining bounds.
I haven't seen Emma since the Sunday before Ozma died. Emma loves Ozma, loves her with the intensity of early imprint. Remember, we met Emma when she was just a meatloaf. I hadn't seen Emma in two months, well more now, but she was insanely happy to see me, jumping up on me, licking me, but always looking around me for Ozma.
Now Tug has seen me since, has seen me without Ozma. However, once he was with Emma, it was like he thought they had spent a special chance, a better chance to find Ozma. They ran past me, sprinting up the snowy driveway and onto the porch. Kathy opened door and let them in. I followed more slowly.
When I got inside, they were being petted, being made welcome, but they had a mission. It was a mission that had to fail. You see, they were looking for Ozma. They swirled around like great white sharks, except they're both so dark and richly colored that that's a bad image. During continuous motion look treats looking for low looking for Ozma.
We fed them, that I took them back outside. We met up with Lily and Dino and their human, and I walked back with them playing with the puppies the whole time. I called myself their dead mother. I'm the one who hovers a little bit, making sure fights to get too rough. I also get out the treats. It was, as I think I said, a bittersweet afternoon. They are so happy, and treat me like, well, one of the pack. They expect me to play, they, my call, they rub up against me. They accept me completely. But let me put it another way of cars, they let me break up fights. They follow me home when they have to go. Well, that worked better if I have a pocketful of treats, but they do follow.
But they aren't Ozma, they look for Ozma, and Oz would've loved it. She loved Lily, she loved Emma, she loves Tug, and she loved making her pack larger that was what was happening yesterday -- Emma and Tug packing up with Lily, taking turns being the dog in front, being the dog in charge, well not in charge but the dog initiating play.
Ozma should've been there, and everybody except maybe Dino knew it. Merry Christmas.
When I got out into the street, where I would be visible to the dogs, I called them. Dino didn't come right away, but the rest of them came running, came sprinting, came leaping over the snow in great furry draining bounds.
I haven't seen Emma since the Sunday before Ozma died. Emma loves Ozma, loves her with the intensity of early imprint. Remember, we met Emma when she was just a meatloaf. I hadn't seen Emma in two months, well more now, but she was insanely happy to see me, jumping up on me, licking me, but always looking around me for Ozma.
Now Tug has seen me since, has seen me without Ozma. However, once he was with Emma, it was like he thought they had spent a special chance, a better chance to find Ozma. They ran past me, sprinting up the snowy driveway and onto the porch. Kathy opened door and let them in. I followed more slowly.
When I got inside, they were being petted, being made welcome, but they had a mission. It was a mission that had to fail. You see, they were looking for Ozma. They swirled around like great white sharks, except they're both so dark and richly colored that that's a bad image. During continuous motion look treats looking for low looking for Ozma.
We fed them, that I took them back outside. We met up with Lily and Dino and their human, and I walked back with them playing with the puppies the whole time. I called myself their dead mother. I'm the one who hovers a little bit, making sure fights to get too rough. I also get out the treats. It was, as I think I said, a bittersweet afternoon. They are so happy, and treat me like, well, one of the pack. They expect me to play, they, my call, they rub up against me. They accept me completely. But let me put it another way of cars, they let me break up fights. They follow me home when they have to go. Well, that worked better if I have a pocketful of treats, but they do follow.
But they aren't Ozma, they look for Ozma, and Oz would've loved it. She loved Lily, she loved Emma, she loves Tug, and she loved making her pack larger that was what was happening yesterday -- Emma and Tug packing up with Lily, taking turns being the dog in front, being the dog in charge, well not in charge but the dog initiating play.
Ozma should've been there, and everybody except maybe Dino knew it. Merry Christmas.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
The Fade
One place we walked, there was a rock and many dogs pissed on it. I learned this because Ozma smelled that rock, smelled it over and over. However even on with my puny human senses could figure it out eventually. One day we must've gotten there just after another dog; they were still traces of wet on the top of the rock. If we been there 10 minutes later, they would have been invisible.
In many ways, my memories of Ozma are like that piss. Crude, yes, but that's me. What I mean by that is there was a time when the memories and the pain really fresh. Anyone, even a human, could see the markings. However, with time they've gone invisible. Your table to smell the pain, smelled memories, nor to realize they're there. You have to have subtler senses to realize the loss of love. Of course, now that I've said that, I'm flooded with memories. It's like once I catch scent of something, the whole history comes back. I'm thinking of a walk, half a dozen, a dozen, more than a dozen walks, all in fragments all at once I'm thinking the time we saw the pagan architects. The spiral built out of sticks. When thinking of the time we swim in the lake, and got buzzed by a bald eagle. The thinking of the last time we went swimming with a stick. When Ozma would try and try to get it in her mouth and she caught it once and she spent it back once, then twice, always chewing always replacing and always shifting it, try to find a place where it was comfortable and not bleeding. I'm thinking of the time we chased rabbits, the time we chased a great blue heron the time we chased cats are arms and paws and leashes outstretched to make one great wide organism running to attack a terrified cat – I left it a place to escape, I didn't really want to catch it -- the time Ozma and I was rolled on the bank and she got a fish hook in her, and we had to walk us back frantic that her was hurt and it was my fault.
For all these memories are like dog markings on the rock, waiting for a nose to realize them, waiting for someone who can smell to be able to know that they're there.
And right now, everything is covered with snow.
That's all.
In many ways, my memories of Ozma are like that piss. Crude, yes, but that's me. What I mean by that is there was a time when the memories and the pain really fresh. Anyone, even a human, could see the markings. However, with time they've gone invisible. Your table to smell the pain, smelled memories, nor to realize they're there. You have to have subtler senses to realize the loss of love. Of course, now that I've said that, I'm flooded with memories. It's like once I catch scent of something, the whole history comes back. I'm thinking of a walk, half a dozen, a dozen, more than a dozen walks, all in fragments all at once I'm thinking the time we saw the pagan architects. The spiral built out of sticks. When thinking of the time we swim in the lake, and got buzzed by a bald eagle. The thinking of the last time we went swimming with a stick. When Ozma would try and try to get it in her mouth and she caught it once and she spent it back once, then twice, always chewing always replacing and always shifting it, try to find a place where it was comfortable and not bleeding. I'm thinking of the time we chased rabbits, the time we chased a great blue heron the time we chased cats are arms and paws and leashes outstretched to make one great wide organism running to attack a terrified cat – I left it a place to escape, I didn't really want to catch it -- the time Ozma and I was rolled on the bank and she got a fish hook in her, and we had to walk us back frantic that her was hurt and it was my fault.
For all these memories are like dog markings on the rock, waiting for a nose to realize them, waiting for someone who can smell to be able to know that they're there.
And right now, everything is covered with snow.
That's all.
Friday, December 19, 2008
More snow, more dogs.
We had more snow yesterday. There's something close to a foot sitting in Bellingham right now. Yesterday, Jon and Zack went into town to see how things were. I got them to take me with them in the truck. It really handles well in the snow. I wouldn't want it; I would hate to drive it. However in the snow, it's really useful.
In any case we went in and I went to the Y they went to the grocery store. On the way home, we had just turned onto Oriental Avenue when I saw Lily and her human. I had John slowdown in the world on the window. Lily! I called out. Lily came towards me. It had been two months since I'd seen her. However that meant nothing to her. I don't know what people talk about when I say dogs have no memory. It seems insane. Lily was happy to see me; Lily jumped the sound of my voice recognizing it before did. I gave her a good rumple, and had to keep her from joining us in the truck right then. However, once we're home I get everything out of the car, I headed back for real visit.
Lily and Ozma are sisters under the for. The first time in that they both went to the deep play bow --deep deep bending till their front bellies touched the ground and their jaws were almost flat to. And they jumped up and Lily cocked her head to the side, her usual first play move. Lily spun in circle which was her usual first play move. Ozma launched for Lily's legs; Lily jumped in a circle, bouncing off my thighs like a pinball. Then the chase began.
In any case, I explained to Lily, and was hospitalized, and why she wasn't there. I got choked up again, of course, but that wasn't the real surprise. The real surprise was how moved everyone else has been. I know I keep saying it, but it's still true.
So sympathetic, making suggestions for how to get over the loss of the dog. It seems like everyone carries around these furry wounds in their heart. If they get this way over dogs, how must it be your people? Or maybe they really do love their dogs more.
I've been thinking about trying to be more methodical about this -- this blog about Ozma. This story, this remembering, this homage.
I guess I'd say my relationship with Ozma fell into four categories category one: I don't know you. During this time hospital was an alien thing a kind of living toy for person I didn't know. Category two: I get to know her. This is the time of the early on W.'s. Category three the real W's. C tegory four: Ozma gets sick. Category five: after her death. The endless W.
Upon reflection, I guess I'd compress category two and three for ease of reference. It was more of a gradual spectrum of any kind of firm delineation there. I'll start trying to address these different categories tomorrow.
In any case, Ozma would love the snow. That's all.
Greg
In any case we went in and I went to the Y they went to the grocery store. On the way home, we had just turned onto Oriental Avenue when I saw Lily and her human. I had John slowdown in the world on the window. Lily! I called out. Lily came towards me. It had been two months since I'd seen her. However that meant nothing to her. I don't know what people talk about when I say dogs have no memory. It seems insane. Lily was happy to see me; Lily jumped the sound of my voice recognizing it before did. I gave her a good rumple, and had to keep her from joining us in the truck right then. However, once we're home I get everything out of the car, I headed back for real visit.
Lily and Ozma are sisters under the for. The first time in that they both went to the deep play bow --deep deep bending till their front bellies touched the ground and their jaws were almost flat to. And they jumped up and Lily cocked her head to the side, her usual first play move. Lily spun in circle which was her usual first play move. Ozma launched for Lily's legs; Lily jumped in a circle, bouncing off my thighs like a pinball. Then the chase began.
In any case, I explained to Lily, and was hospitalized, and why she wasn't there. I got choked up again, of course, but that wasn't the real surprise. The real surprise was how moved everyone else has been. I know I keep saying it, but it's still true.
So sympathetic, making suggestions for how to get over the loss of the dog. It seems like everyone carries around these furry wounds in their heart. If they get this way over dogs, how must it be your people? Or maybe they really do love their dogs more.
I've been thinking about trying to be more methodical about this -- this blog about Ozma. This story, this remembering, this homage.
I guess I'd say my relationship with Ozma fell into four categories category one: I don't know you. During this time hospital was an alien thing a kind of living toy for person I didn't know. Category two: I get to know her. This is the time of the early on W.'s. Category three the real W's. C tegory four: Ozma gets sick. Category five: after her death. The endless W.
Upon reflection, I guess I'd compress category two and three for ease of reference. It was more of a gradual spectrum of any kind of firm delineation there. I'll start trying to address these different categories tomorrow.
In any case, Ozma would love the snow. That's all.
Greg
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
More Snow, and a Realization
More Snow, and a Realization
It snowed again today. It's dark now, so it might still be snowing. The prediction was 4 to 7 inches, and that comes on top of the three, four, 5 inches from the other day. So call it three and five for a total of eight. It's enough snow you could hide a small dog in.
Bellingham isn't really set up for this kind of snow. There are some hills throughout the town, and its snowplows are too infrequent. Actually, I'll take that back. The city does a pretty good job considering it's a town in the Pacific Northwest. However, the drivers do not. To be specific, they panic a bit. They forget to signal in the snow, and they speed up, following too close.
In any case, when Kathy and I see the snow, one of the most obvious thoughts is Ozma would love this. Especially now with the backyard fence, she would've had a blast. She always did. She was rollicking snow dog, and we went up hills down hills around trails and through the woods. It was one of the many times when we moved off in a children's book or fairytale land. I remember one time we walked down the road in sudden valley, I didn't realize that there were deer nearby. They stood up and moved away, and when they did, I could see the five or six little brown patches, ovals where their bodies had been pressed against the grass, melting the snow.
I don't know what also moving around to hear. I've seen dear tracks, of course, and a number of bird tracks. . However, what with the snowfall in the way it is I'm not sure if the small animal tracks are squirrel raccoon. We've seen both, the squirrels are far more common.
When I started thinking about borrowing Ruben, I wondered: would Ozma be jealous? Would she care?
Immediately the answer came, and came clearly. Ozma would care, but she would not be jealous. By that I mean, she was a sharing dog. She loved Ruben. She loved humans. She loved people; she loved animals. Since she is always with me, with us, there would be no jealousy. In fact, except for an occasional time when she thought she wasn't getting petted enough, she didn't really understand the meaning of the word. What she wanted was everybody in a big puppy pile. Everybody shares. Everybody plays. Everybody rubs. Everybody feeds her.
So, I will borrow Rubin. It won't be Ozma but it's a member of her pack.
Outside, everything is quiet, everything is white. And all is softened by the snow.
Greg
It snowed again today. It's dark now, so it might still be snowing. The prediction was 4 to 7 inches, and that comes on top of the three, four, 5 inches from the other day. So call it three and five for a total of eight. It's enough snow you could hide a small dog in.
Bellingham isn't really set up for this kind of snow. There are some hills throughout the town, and its snowplows are too infrequent. Actually, I'll take that back. The city does a pretty good job considering it's a town in the Pacific Northwest. However, the drivers do not. To be specific, they panic a bit. They forget to signal in the snow, and they speed up, following too close.
In any case, when Kathy and I see the snow, one of the most obvious thoughts is Ozma would love this. Especially now with the backyard fence, she would've had a blast. She always did. She was rollicking snow dog, and we went up hills down hills around trails and through the woods. It was one of the many times when we moved off in a children's book or fairytale land. I remember one time we walked down the road in sudden valley, I didn't realize that there were deer nearby. They stood up and moved away, and when they did, I could see the five or six little brown patches, ovals where their bodies had been pressed against the grass, melting the snow.
I don't know what also moving around to hear. I've seen dear tracks, of course, and a number of bird tracks. . However, what with the snowfall in the way it is I'm not sure if the small animal tracks are squirrel raccoon. We've seen both, the squirrels are far more common.
When I started thinking about borrowing Ruben, I wondered: would Ozma be jealous? Would she care?
Immediately the answer came, and came clearly. Ozma would care, but she would not be jealous. By that I mean, she was a sharing dog. She loved Ruben. She loved humans. She loved people; she loved animals. Since she is always with me, with us, there would be no jealousy. In fact, except for an occasional time when she thought she wasn't getting petted enough, she didn't really understand the meaning of the word. What she wanted was everybody in a big puppy pile. Everybody shares. Everybody plays. Everybody rubs. Everybody feeds her.
So, I will borrow Rubin. It won't be Ozma but it's a member of her pack.
Outside, everything is quiet, everything is white. And all is softened by the snow.
Greg
Snow and Stories (from 12/14/2008)
Earlier today, I looked out the window and saw Ruben and his humans playing in the snow. I ran downstairs and got my Crocs, then ran outside. But a time I was there, they were slightly out of sight behind a tree. I ran two more steps, then called Rubén! He looked around looking for me. He. What's more, he knows the great call, the call of his name, the call of welcome. Once he found me, he started jumping up and down until his humans let him loose.. He came sprinting at me through the snow scrabbling around, jumping up on my legs.
I was rubbing him and rubbing his ears, telling them he was a good dog, a wiggly dog claiming him and calling him.
When his humans got here, they said as they always do, boy, he really loves you. They went on to say that as he's gotten older he hasn't liked everyone is met; he's growled of some people, even barked at some people. This amazed me. I looked down he was rolling on my feet, eating snow, writing ice, rubbing his snout against my toes.
Ruben not friendly? This is ridiculous so I said, well, I think he just thinks part of the same pack. They nodded and smiled and agreed, but when I think about it I think I was right. I think he met us as a puppy. I think he meant me in the presence of Oz. Oz never understands that people were dog sometimes aren't pack members, or it already friends, weren't already playmates. Because she assumed this, it often became that way. So Rubin met us when Oz was still wiggly, he was wiggly and when I was giving him the great call: RRRRuben! This meant that we would sometimes make a two dog one-person puppy pile. Everyone wiggling everyone embracing. Because of this even though it's been two months since I've seen Rubin is gotten a lot taller, a lot older -- he's essentially an adult dog now -- were still start part of the same pack.
He doesn't see any reason for separation between us, and neither do I. Today's big news: they said I could borrow crazy boy as they called Ruben..
I asked him three times if they meant it. They said yes.
It's like Christmas.
Greg
I was rubbing him and rubbing his ears, telling them he was a good dog, a wiggly dog claiming him and calling him.
When his humans got here, they said as they always do, boy, he really loves you. They went on to say that as he's gotten older he hasn't liked everyone is met; he's growled of some people, even barked at some people. This amazed me. I looked down he was rolling on my feet, eating snow, writing ice, rubbing his snout against my toes.
Ruben not friendly? This is ridiculous so I said, well, I think he just thinks part of the same pack. They nodded and smiled and agreed, but when I think about it I think I was right. I think he met us as a puppy. I think he meant me in the presence of Oz. Oz never understands that people were dog sometimes aren't pack members, or it already friends, weren't already playmates. Because she assumed this, it often became that way. So Rubin met us when Oz was still wiggly, he was wiggly and when I was giving him the great call: RRRRuben! This meant that we would sometimes make a two dog one-person puppy pile. Everyone wiggling everyone embracing. Because of this even though it's been two months since I've seen Rubin is gotten a lot taller, a lot older -- he's essentially an adult dog now -- were still start part of the same pack.
He doesn't see any reason for separation between us, and neither do I. Today's big news: they said I could borrow crazy boy as they called Ruben..
I asked him three times if they meant it. They said yes.
It's like Christmas.
Greg
Friday, December 12, 2008
Vulnerability
One of the ways that Ozma changed me was to make me more vulnerable. Well, to make Kathy and I more vulnerable. Apparently, the other day there was a news story, a CNN story, about a dog that left outside in the Midwestern states. His owners had left them outside for something like 12 hours, and his coat had frozen to the ground. Kathy started crying over this, unable to face the thought of the dog being left so neglected, so unloved, that someone would let it freeze to the ground.
I too find myself more vulnerable, but more in interpersonal or interspecies interactions. That is to say, I more vulnerable I'm actually talking to a dog, or when I see a dog than I am to the idea of a dog. This means it's hard for me to go to the library, because the homeless man who hang out there sometimes that their dogs outside. The dogs are attentive, patient, and don't usually suffer. If anything, they suffer boredom. However, once the while it will be raining and the wind will be blowing. The day is simply chilly. On those days, the dogs look from person to person, longing for someone to take them, to be with them, to welcome them back to the pack. That's when I feel vulnerable.
Greg
I too find myself more vulnerable, but more in interpersonal or interspecies interactions. That is to say, I more vulnerable I'm actually talking to a dog, or when I see a dog than I am to the idea of a dog. This means it's hard for me to go to the library, because the homeless man who hang out there sometimes that their dogs outside. The dogs are attentive, patient, and don't usually suffer. If anything, they suffer boredom. However, once the while it will be raining and the wind will be blowing. The day is simply chilly. On those days, the dogs look from person to person, longing for someone to take them, to be with them, to welcome them back to the pack. That's when I feel vulnerable.
Greg
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I Still Run Into People
I still run into people who knew me through Oz. Not many, because my routine has changed so much. I simply don't go many of the places I used to go with Oz. However, there are some people I still see. And some people will have their own routines. For example, they come out walking their dogs, when I'm getting things out of the car.
These people always know that something's happened, because well, it had to. We walked by them every day, sometimes three or five times a day, and then we didn't. It just stopped.
I'm serious. There are places while houses that are same block away. Oz and I used to walk several 5-10 minute walks, well, say 10 minute walks, so she could pee. We'd do these about three times a day. This was in addition to the big W.
If someone lived within the range of the short walks they really see us, well, 3, 4, 5 times a day. So, to go from five times a day to, say, zero ellipses well, that's a big jump. In any case, they know they ask about her quietly… hesitantly. Some of them raised one hand, as if to pat me on the shoulder. If they are walking their dogs, they look at their dogs. Sometimes they calldogs to them, so they can pat them on the side. They feel the wind that blows without her.
And then, when asked, I tell them. I tell them how we fought to keep us alive, and how closely monitored her through that last month. We didn't want her to suffer, but we didn't want to kill her before her time. Putting her to sleep when she still had life and joy -- that would've been wrong. So I tell them. I told him how we fed her for the last few weeks. Howard took longer and longer until it took an hour a day just to future. How the tumor grew in her mouth until eating became more effortful. All the signs were she could he went from greedy dog big yes I'll take that hamburger, to normal size bytes to polite bites to teeny tiny ridiculous little fragments. By the end even the hard chocolate -- ha! That's a laugh. Even the chocolate on the edge of a Reese's Cup was too much for her. It was too stiff to rasp to get past that damn tumor.
Oz was also tired at the end. The vet told us she had been anemic. I didn't know she was anemic. All I knew was, walks took five minutes to get to a house might take 20 home. In fact, last Sunday service with us, that's exactly what happened. She insisted on seeing her friends, who live five minutes walk away. We got there, and she played with them, briefly but joyously. Then we turn to go. We walked one yard's width, maybe two. And then we would rest. And then I would guide on us up slowly onto her feet would rock another 2 yards. One time I cross the street. That's all they did. Then she had to lay down. The thing was, the thing that broke my heart, she was so happy to be there, happy to be with me, have you suck up the sun.
I'm choking up now, and it shouldn't surprise me. We still miss her.
Greg
These people always know that something's happened, because well, it had to. We walked by them every day, sometimes three or five times a day, and then we didn't. It just stopped.
I'm serious. There are places while houses that are same block away. Oz and I used to walk several 5-10 minute walks, well, say 10 minute walks, so she could pee. We'd do these about three times a day. This was in addition to the big W.
If someone lived within the range of the short walks they really see us, well, 3, 4, 5 times a day. So, to go from five times a day to, say, zero ellipses well, that's a big jump. In any case, they know they ask about her quietly… hesitantly. Some of them raised one hand, as if to pat me on the shoulder. If they are walking their dogs, they look at their dogs. Sometimes they calldogs to them, so they can pat them on the side. They feel the wind that blows without her.
And then, when asked, I tell them. I tell them how we fought to keep us alive, and how closely monitored her through that last month. We didn't want her to suffer, but we didn't want to kill her before her time. Putting her to sleep when she still had life and joy -- that would've been wrong. So I tell them. I told him how we fed her for the last few weeks. Howard took longer and longer until it took an hour a day just to future. How the tumor grew in her mouth until eating became more effortful. All the signs were she could he went from greedy dog big yes I'll take that hamburger, to normal size bytes to polite bites to teeny tiny ridiculous little fragments. By the end even the hard chocolate -- ha! That's a laugh. Even the chocolate on the edge of a Reese's Cup was too much for her. It was too stiff to rasp to get past that damn tumor.
Oz was also tired at the end. The vet told us she had been anemic. I didn't know she was anemic. All I knew was, walks took five minutes to get to a house might take 20 home. In fact, last Sunday service with us, that's exactly what happened. She insisted on seeing her friends, who live five minutes walk away. We got there, and she played with them, briefly but joyously. Then we turn to go. We walked one yard's width, maybe two. And then we would rest. And then I would guide on us up slowly onto her feet would rock another 2 yards. One time I cross the street. That's all they did. Then she had to lay down. The thing was, the thing that broke my heart, she was so happy to be there, happy to be with me, have you suck up the sun.
I'm choking up now, and it shouldn't surprise me. We still miss her.
Greg
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Whole New Social Group
One of the things Oz did for me is change my circle of friends. In fact, I'd have to say she gave me a whole new social group. She did this in three ways.
The obvious way is that I met a lot of people while we were walking. That's nice, but it isn't revolutionary. I'm a pretty friendly guy; I meet a lot of people anyway.
The second way is change my interaction with people is through making me an event. As I said, I'm friendly -- but I'm not an event. On the other hand, Ozma was. She was an event for several reasons. And in several ways. First she assumed that we were already friends. At the same time there was a joy of discovery so that the old and the new came together at once. It was like she would say, "Hey! Look who's here!"
Sometimes she even mentioning, as if to say, "Don't you recognize them?"
And so, going along with things, I do like I did. And that meant more lively interaction. Joking, instead of just chatting.
However, the main way past change my social circle is through, well, putting me on a different level, an old level. To put it bluntly, when you have a dog, or a dog has you, you are immediately and intimately interwoven with three groups: people with dogs, dogs (and all other animals), and little kids.
What does this mean practically? Well it means when a Great Dane ran flopping Scooby Doo like across the street yesterday, running right for my car, my first thought was not hey there might be an accident, but I should go play with him. In fact, I kept the car stop otherwise, because I assumed that there would be other dogs running along after him. Why not? That's the way it's been for the past few years.
Ozma and I did things like race little kids home from the bus stop, greet senior citizens in wheelchairs were being helped out of band's – Oz would like their forearms gently, somehow where the she really shouldn't be written very active -- and stop by to see if any other dogs were available to come out to play. Sometimes, this took bizarre twists. We've taken more than one dog on a walk with us without meaning to. In fact, we've taken one dog run through the woods going on a mile-long loop as a kind of extended pack.
Little kids talk to adults casually, the little kids talk to guys with friendly friendly friendly dogs more than casually. They talk to them like they're living in amusement park rides, or clowns that don't scare them, or free pizza.
I like being an event. I miss my dog friends.
Greg
The obvious way is that I met a lot of people while we were walking. That's nice, but it isn't revolutionary. I'm a pretty friendly guy; I meet a lot of people anyway.
The second way is change my interaction with people is through making me an event. As I said, I'm friendly -- but I'm not an event. On the other hand, Ozma was. She was an event for several reasons. And in several ways. First she assumed that we were already friends. At the same time there was a joy of discovery so that the old and the new came together at once. It was like she would say, "Hey! Look who's here!"
Sometimes she even mentioning, as if to say, "Don't you recognize them?"
And so, going along with things, I do like I did. And that meant more lively interaction. Joking, instead of just chatting.
However, the main way past change my social circle is through, well, putting me on a different level, an old level. To put it bluntly, when you have a dog, or a dog has you, you are immediately and intimately interwoven with three groups: people with dogs, dogs (and all other animals), and little kids.
What does this mean practically? Well it means when a Great Dane ran flopping Scooby Doo like across the street yesterday, running right for my car, my first thought was not hey there might be an accident, but I should go play with him. In fact, I kept the car stop otherwise, because I assumed that there would be other dogs running along after him. Why not? That's the way it's been for the past few years.
Ozma and I did things like race little kids home from the bus stop, greet senior citizens in wheelchairs were being helped out of band's – Oz would like their forearms gently, somehow where the she really shouldn't be written very active -- and stop by to see if any other dogs were available to come out to play. Sometimes, this took bizarre twists. We've taken more than one dog on a walk with us without meaning to. In fact, we've taken one dog run through the woods going on a mile-long loop as a kind of extended pack.
Little kids talk to adults casually, the little kids talk to guys with friendly friendly friendly dogs more than casually. They talk to them like they're living in amusement park rides, or clowns that don't scare them, or free pizza.
I like being an event. I miss my dog friends.
Greg
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Wasting Time?
I've often had trouble getting enough time to post here, but for the first time today, I felt a kind of restlessness regarding this blog: like I was wasting my time.
I don't know. I still miss Oz. I still think our exploits would make a great book, and that people would like to hear about them. But…restless.
I'll share a specific for today, and then go on. Out in Sudden Valley, we started our W's on the road, walking on pavement, or, when cars came, in the roadside ditches and brush. However, there were a lot of woods, some parks, and a host of trails that we often went on. The closest trail was about 7-8 minutes away; the closest park around 12-15.
One of the times we hit a park, we followed a trail as it wound through it, then went off so Oz could explore the tiny creek. She waded along, then decided she wanted to cross. Well, it was a narrow creek, but I'm not much of a jumper. I gave a heroic squat-leap!
The other side of the creek was pure loose mud under the moss. It gave way under my shoes, and I slid…well, judging by the skid marks I left behind, I slid about two feet. I also fell to my hands and knees, dropping the leash in the process.
Oz thought this was the best thing since sliced kibble. Before I could pull my face out of the mud—did I mention my nose hit the mud—she was there, licking me, down in a low "Let's play!" squat and barking.
It was like she was saying, "Finally! You just figured out that four legs and mud are more fun!" We had a little wrestle, with me rubbing her over the grass, and then I eventually learned how to stand upright again.
Greg
I don't know. I still miss Oz. I still think our exploits would make a great book, and that people would like to hear about them. But…restless.
I'll share a specific for today, and then go on. Out in Sudden Valley, we started our W's on the road, walking on pavement, or, when cars came, in the roadside ditches and brush. However, there were a lot of woods, some parks, and a host of trails that we often went on. The closest trail was about 7-8 minutes away; the closest park around 12-15.
One of the times we hit a park, we followed a trail as it wound through it, then went off so Oz could explore the tiny creek. She waded along, then decided she wanted to cross. Well, it was a narrow creek, but I'm not much of a jumper. I gave a heroic squat-leap!
The other side of the creek was pure loose mud under the moss. It gave way under my shoes, and I slid…well, judging by the skid marks I left behind, I slid about two feet. I also fell to my hands and knees, dropping the leash in the process.
Oz thought this was the best thing since sliced kibble. Before I could pull my face out of the mud—did I mention my nose hit the mud—she was there, licking me, down in a low "Let's play!" squat and barking.
It was like she was saying, "Finally! You just figured out that four legs and mud are more fun!" We had a little wrestle, with me rubbing her over the grass, and then I eventually learned how to stand upright again.
Greg
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Contact, Dominance
Kathy is reading bunches of books on dogs recently. Some of it is openly as a way of mourning Oz. Other books, though, are on things like dog training, and, specifically, on adopting dogs.
I've dipped into a few of them, and will be looking at more, and have been stunned by what I've learned, and, again, by how fortunate we were. For example, while many of the books suggest patting or stroking your dog as part of a reward and reinforcement, one book noted that contact wasn't a natural thing for dogs, and they had to learn it.
Huh. I never would have known that. Oz was, among other things, often in contact with us. Oh, she liked sitting in the sun, and rolling in the grass, and digging in the dirt—but she loved being in contact with us as well. In fact, when she slept under my desk, she often made sure she had some tiny part in contact—her muzzle on my toes, one paw on one ankle, etc.
I was also struck by the frequent mentions of pack leader issues: who will lead, you or your dog? What often seemed to be the case with Oz was a mutuality: let's go here!
Greg
I've dipped into a few of them, and will be looking at more, and have been stunned by what I've learned, and, again, by how fortunate we were. For example, while many of the books suggest patting or stroking your dog as part of a reward and reinforcement, one book noted that contact wasn't a natural thing for dogs, and they had to learn it.
Huh. I never would have known that. Oz was, among other things, often in contact with us. Oh, she liked sitting in the sun, and rolling in the grass, and digging in the dirt—but she loved being in contact with us as well. In fact, when she slept under my desk, she often made sure she had some tiny part in contact—her muzzle on my toes, one paw on one ankle, etc.
I was also struck by the frequent mentions of pack leader issues: who will lead, you or your dog? What often seemed to be the case with Oz was a mutuality: let's go here!
Greg
Monday, December 1, 2008
Ghosts and Echoes
Jon is still close to his ex-girlfriend Lisa. She came to visit over Thanksgiving, arriving late in the day on Thanksgiving to stay overnight for Black Friday shopping the next. She brought her little dog Bailey with her.
Bailey is…well, I'm going to show my ignorance of dog breeds here. Bailey is small and fluffy, like a fox, but runs like he has some border collie in him. He's very cute, and, if I have to admit it, smarter than Oz was. He's like a hummingbird of a dog—zip, zip, etc.
Bailey visited a few times while Oz was still with us. The first time, they played, but Bailey also seemed to be caught up in fear and turf wars; he tried to bite Oz more than once. The second time, they played like old pals, and ran around the back yard over and over, swirling through bushes and weeds and grass. That's more amazing than it sounds, since Bailey is less than a year old and Oz was a) 12, b) post-leg surgery, and c) carrying around a tumor that would kill her in another month.
In any case, Bailey stayed with us while Lisa and Jon went shopping. It was an education. We played with him, and I walked him. He is, as I said, bright. I could sometimes fool Oz with a fake throw of a ball or toy. Bailey can always tell.
But there little warmth to him; he's cute, but not loving. There's also little connection. When we went for a walk, the leash stayed dead: a thing, not a lifeline. After Oz, the leash came alive when I walked Tug, Baby, Jackson, Emma…not Bailey.
I'm still learning, and I guess still looking for Oz's shadow in every dog.
Greg
Bailey is…well, I'm going to show my ignorance of dog breeds here. Bailey is small and fluffy, like a fox, but runs like he has some border collie in him. He's very cute, and, if I have to admit it, smarter than Oz was. He's like a hummingbird of a dog—zip, zip, etc.
Bailey visited a few times while Oz was still with us. The first time, they played, but Bailey also seemed to be caught up in fear and turf wars; he tried to bite Oz more than once. The second time, they played like old pals, and ran around the back yard over and over, swirling through bushes and weeds and grass. That's more amazing than it sounds, since Bailey is less than a year old and Oz was a) 12, b) post-leg surgery, and c) carrying around a tumor that would kill her in another month.
In any case, Bailey stayed with us while Lisa and Jon went shopping. It was an education. We played with him, and I walked him. He is, as I said, bright. I could sometimes fool Oz with a fake throw of a ball or toy. Bailey can always tell.
But there little warmth to him; he's cute, but not loving. There's also little connection. When we went for a walk, the leash stayed dead: a thing, not a lifeline. After Oz, the leash came alive when I walked Tug, Baby, Jackson, Emma…not Bailey.
I'm still learning, and I guess still looking for Oz's shadow in every dog.
Greg
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