The Test

So, last week I turned in an application to volunteer at the Whatcom Humane Society. I'm applying to be a dog walker, though the position is technically called a TLC volunteer.

I'd never been to the humane society before, or, indeed, to any shelter. I was afraid that I'd see a bunch of scared and shivering dogs, animals that been abused and neglected. What I found was somewhat more baffling.

The building was pretty basic, and a bit smaller than I expected. It was clean, but not impressive. I dropped my application at the front desk, then asked if I could visit the dogs. They said sure, so I went in.

There were about eight dogs there, and, though one was kind of sad/shy, the rest were doing a kind of audition. They were friendly and perky, and pushed up to the front of their cages. Some immediately sat, to show how well trained they were. Some—a pair of smooth coat collies—had more slender snouts, and they stuck their noses out of the cages to lick the air in greeting.

They were vibrating in welcome. I petted one or two, then skipped out to visit the cats. They were more standoffish, but a couple of them were crazy friendly: rolling and rubbing, purring, etc. I petted one's paws, and he reached out and petted my finger with his paws. Run away!

I stopped at the front desk to ask a few details about volunteering, such as how long I was allowed to take the dogs out for a walk. One woman said, "Well, we close at 6 PM, so you've got to have them back by then. Before that, though, you can take them as long as you want—all day."It's like a dog buffet. I had to run before I adopted them all. All seemed nice, friendly, and ready as hell to get out of their kennels.

Greg

Dog Friend

I keep letting more time go between writing and posting here. It's odd, and once again, sad. When Oz was alive, there would have been, could have been updates several times a day, because we were always doing things. Now, time drifts.

In any case, in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy, there was a character who was named "Elf-friend" (or elf friend). The tag came from special service to the elves, and from being friend beyond his race's norm.

Given how many people serve dogs so well, I'm hardly a standout, but I do sometimes feel like a dog friend—like there's some special tag on me, since Oz. When I was in Seattle on Saturday, no strange people (except wait staff) came up to me…but one strange dog did. The same was true in downtown Bellingham.

I'm also moving more towards being engaged in other ways with dogs. I called the humane society about volunteering, looking specifically to walk and socialize dogs. Last night, after a bit of more planned TV, Kathy found a program more or less by accident about the humane society of Houston rescuing animals after a hurricane. A few years ago, I would never have watched something like this. Last night, I still could have passed on it—but once it was on, I found myself deeply moved by the plight of the animals, and by the people who were lining up to help them.
As one example: foster homes were needed for 600 animals for 10 days, so their owners had time to find them all. There were lines of people, ready to take in strange animals for so long/brief a time, after a few moments of meeting!

On the flip side, some people had abandoned their animals, even though the city had provided free crates for transportation. They left tiny dogs in closed buildings and bolted the city. My vision blurred with anger hearing this. Jesus!

Everybody's got a Marley

Ads for Marley and Me show up once in a while. They're fun, and the things Marley does look funny. However, except for the bit about driving the car slowly so he can walk his front paws on the pavement, I have to assume that any person with an active dog is going to have seen his or her dog do something just as charming and funky.

I mentioned this to Kathy, then was reminded of the time Oz and I had walked up Cedar Hills and Thad came biking back around the corner with Lilly. Oz was super happy to see her, and she was happy to see Oz, but Lilly was overheated from the run, and literally frothing at the mouth. Oz tried to play, and Lilly did a little, but only till Thad put some water out for her. Then she flopped down to drink—laying on her side, with her tongue lapping downward into the water. Oz mirrored her, so all of a sudden, there were two dogs on their sides, drinking sideways from a shallow trough of water.

Of course, come to think of it, half the strange/silly stuff Oz did, or more, I was in on. From trying to lick a snarling dog to being buzzed by an owl, we did them together.

Once More to the Lake

Yesterday was New Year's Day. I like to have a little time alone outside on New Year's, so I went to the lake. It was, like many things, bittersweet.

Oz and I went to the lake many times. We went the first day we moved in to this new house, to explore the route and let her have a treat/reward for being so good during the move. It seemed impossibly far away then, because we didn't know the route. The one side of the road is all scrub woods, and at that point, there's a fair curve in Lakeway, which means cars become visible pretty quickly, seeming to zip towards us.

Oz hadn't known we had a destination, of course. She was simply happy to be walking. Then we went on and on…a very long time, which in real minutes was about 12. We got to where I started to see gaps in the trees, and then the mouth of the trail, and then the trail itself. Oz, being scent-driven rather than vision-driven, wasn't as focused. She just kept ambling…until we got on the trails, and got to the point where it forked and we could go toward the water.

That section was longer once again, who knows how long? (90 seconds of twists and turns, in real minutes.) Then we were at the water, and it was good. She was jumping up and down, and looking back and forth from me to the water, etc.

That was the first time. Last year, we went to the lake together on New Year's Day. The lack was frozen near the edges, frozen solid enough to walk on in some places. We did, hesitantly, and Oz left little paw scratches across a stretch of it.

Yesterday, I stood alone on a beach that had been reshaped by the winter storms, as it had been last year. I didn't have to wade. I didn't have to splash. I could stay warm and dry. And sad.

Greg

A Furry Heart

Kathy had run across a show called Dogtown, in which cameramen from the National Geographic channel follow the attempts of a dedicated pet rehab facility in Utah to help every dog they can. Individual episodes have ranged from shocking (the attempt to rehabilitate Michael Vick's pit pulls) to heart breaking (the dog whose leg was so mangled in a car wreck that he was chewing off toes from the pain, apparently).

Each episode, though, reminds us how blessed we were with Oz. The anxious dog who is scared even when she walks over different textures? That reminded me of how Oz liked walking on the bridge in Whatcom Falls park, apparently just because it felt different (and for the view). The dog who liked adults, but got kind of frightened by babies? That reminded us of Oz licking baby toes, gently, gently. The dogs who got violent or protective when someone tried to take their food? That reminded both of us of how easygoing Oz was in this area. We could interrupt a meal, move her plate, take things off of the dish, etc., and the most she might do is follow us and look at us with a question in her eyes. Hey, what's going on? But no violence, no aggression, etc.
Some of this was having a privileged upbringing. Oz never had to doubt that she was accepted, never had to fight for food, etc. But there are dogs who have that who get mean, protective, or scared. Oz was simply a good dog—a gift dog.

With Tug coming to visit and getting the run of the house, I had another "Would Ozma be jealous?" fear. Whenever those come, the answer always follows immediately. I feel her cuddled near my heart, between my arms as she liked to lay on the bed, and a gentle lick under my chin. Don't be daft, she says. You'll never forget me, and Tug was always welcome. Is always welcome. Do I wish I could be there to play with him? Sure. But I'll always share.
And she always would.

Greg