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

Tug

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

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.