The Gift of a Dog
Princess Roxy
Since I was 10 I have had the privilege of living with dogs and I do mean privilege, their unconditional love, and it is love based on our interpretation, as the wonder of science has now shown us, their energy, their antics and their loyalty are unlike any other relationship we have. The human/dog relationship has been around for centuries and there is no other interspecies relationship quite like it. We also know that dogs are good for therapy and happily accept the role of being the eyes of the blind and other helpful associations. For me it has been about affection and fun.
My first dog was a Husky named, Happy. He was a retired sled dog from my grandfather, Joe Leclerc, who was a renowned and awarded musher delivering packages and mail to remote communities in Northern Manitoba. I don’t remember Happy but I have seen pictures of him and heard tales of his devotion to me as a toddler. Like my grandfather, we also lived in a remote area and he was my guide, baby sitter, protector. He followed me around and would alert my parents if I was venturing too far or would herd me back to a safe area of the yard. When I was present he was tough and assertive but if I was not there he was docile, even allowing other dogs and critters to steal his food.
Granpa Joe
Our second dog was a mutt who looked like he was half Beagle and half Golden Labrador and I thank my sister for bringing him into our lives. While my mother was grocery shopping, my sister would often go next door to the pet shop and look at the animals. Frequently she would drag my mother in and point out a particularly cute animal. My mother would say the same thing, “Yea, it’s cute, ok, let’s go home now.” On one particular occasion my mother’s response was different- she hesitated and looked at the puppy just a little longer and even allowed us to pick it up and pet it. “He really is cute......” she said. We knew she was hooked, then we just had to work on Dad. When we got home we excitedly told my dad about the puppy and when he looked at my mom, she told him, “Yea, this one is really cute...” Ok, dad said, let’s go have a look and of course we brought him home.
There is one sad aspect of living with dogs, we almost always out live them but I will not dwell on that here. I have had the joy of sharing my life with Happy, Sam, Tasha the Wonder Dog, Molly, Baby, Jack, Sophie, and now Heidi and Gracie who are still taking me on their adventures. Baby was a particularly remarkable dog and as she grew her name evolved to just, ‘Baddog’ because, well:
Our family considers her to be our version of the ‘Tale of Two Dogs’; she was the worst of dogs and she was the best of dogs. Baddog did only one thing; whatever she wanted. There was no fence that could contain her despite our numerous attempts. We thought a 3 foot deep wall of blackberry bushes would be enough. No. We tried regular wire fence. No. We progressed to an electric fence. Still no, she was willing to take the hit. At the end of her life she had missing and broken teeth and one reason for that was her escape to freedom by biting through a chain link fence. True story. We have pictures. Finally we realized the best thing was to let her come and go, she never went far, just enough to make sure we understood who was the owner and who was the pet. We live in a rural area so we did not have to worry about neighbors being bothered by her adventures. One evening I awoke to the distinct smell of skunk, a smell that permeates everything within a mile at least. We ventured out in our pajamas and flashlights to determine the location and sure enough our lights found Baddog with a dead skunk in her jaw, she waggled it once or twice and laid it on the ground, awaiting her reward and accolades for, “What a fantastic job you did! Thank you for saving us from the skunk!” Instead she was whisked into the bath tub and bathed repeatedly. She also had a couple of pins in her front paw due to a disagreement she had with a Rottweiler- she believed to the end of her days that she won that debate. We have a vet bill that disputes her claim. She also had a plastic hip, the result of her race with a car while we were visiting friends. Did that stop her from barking at or chasing cars in the future? No, of course not. As I said, she did what she wanted. You might think this would not have endeared her to us but no, it made us love her all the more. Were we in an emotionally abusive relationship with her? Perhaps, but if you had been there when she walked up to you, her head down in modest apology, wagging not just her tail, but her entire behind, I’m sure you would have embraced her as we did. How we loved her! My mother was concerned about having such a zany dog around when my grandson was born. She worried that Baddog may bite the baby. She had no need to worry. One afternoon Baddog was napping on the couch (a dog bed was ok for other dogs but she preferred the couch, thank you) my grandson, 6 months old at the time leaned over and bit her with his 2 teeth. She lifted her head, slightly opened one eye, licked her jowls, and looked at him as if to say, “Really? Was that necessary?” and then went back to her nap.
Baddog doing what she wanted.
During the era of Baddog’s reign we also had Sophie and Big Jack. Jack was a black Great Dane and her inner conscience, “Are you sure we should do this? The humans might not like it.” She paid him no mind, instead she would attempt to entice him into her escapades. We knew because he would come into the house in a hurry to alert us of her departure.
Baddog and her posse, Jack and Sophie plotting to take over the world.
Sadly the Posse is in heaven because All Dogs Go To Heaven but we are still able to laugh and remember their antics. By the way if you want a gentle, trustworthy, easy to train, lovable dog, I suggest a Great Dane. Never have I lived with such a gentle being, his only flaw was that he believed he was a lap dog. He would diligently bark from the back of the house to alert of us of someone at the front door. “You should go check that out, I’ll keep things safe back here.”
Today I have the delight of sharing my life with Gracie and Heidi. If I have learned anything in all these years, it is that dogs are individuals just as humans are and each one has their own character and personality. Gracie is a social butterfly who eagerly greets people, wagging her little puff tail. Heidi is a loner who prefers solace and demands long hikes which is a good thing because it gets me outside, except she doesn’t care if it’s raining or snowing as I do. Heidi excels at fishing and has caught many live fish right from a stream or lake. She seems aloof yet when one of us is gone she waits patiently by the door until we return. Gracie insists that the pack stay together and if she cannot see all of us in sight she will run back and forth trying to herd us together until we are a close knit group again. She worries. Don’t let her cute demeanor fool, she is a food ninja and will steal your food while you look away for even a moment. “You don’t expect me to exist on kibble do you?”
Gracie, the Ninja and Heidi the Fisher Dog
My children share my love of dogs and during family gatherings dogs are invited and we usually have 7 dogs roaming around the house and yard. So far arguments between the dogs have been few and short, it fascinates me to watch their behavior in a large group, the pecking and order and hierarchy are established immediately and territories are defined without visible lines.
Grandpup, Charlie No Good (because he is ussualy up to no good).
Grandpups, Alfie and Phoebe learning the basic rule of sharing.
I cannot imagine a life without a dog, despite their crazy behavior, numerous chewed shoes, shredded pillows (amazing how far feathers travel when released from a pillow case), and even a chewed couch (still not happy about that one) I will always have a 4 legged furry companion to walk with me, sleep with me (yes, right on the bed), listen to me, and play with me. They remind me to be kind to other creatures, encourage me to remain curious, coach me into activity, inspire me to view the world through a different lens and take joy in simple pleasures.
(I like cats too but that's a nother story.)
RWANDA SYNDROME GUIDES TOMAHAWKS HOME
Those amazingly pinpoint-accurate Tomahawk cruise missiles fired at a Syrian airbase carried with them the disgust of the civilized world. The DNA of that revulsion has long roots; they extend over time and space. In these modern times, there was Nanking; Kristallnacht/the camps; Cambodia; Bosnia; Rwanda... These were episodes of utmost political outrage against humanity that exceeded established perimeters, and wherein organized nation states could not or would not intervene. In these cases, the world tends to flagellate itself for some time afterwards. The last straw for the otherwise callous and isolationist Donald Trump was the suffering of, “Those beautiful babies” dying from chemical warfare in Syria. Also, his actions went in the face of his stated benign feelings toward Bashar Assad and Vladimir Putin, who are in cahoots in the multifaceted Syrian mélange of combatants.
When Bashar crossed Barack’s redline, rather than loose the missiles on his own, Obama sought the participation of the American People through their representatives. They left him whistling through the deserted Halls of Congress. Barack then took up a misbegotten Russian offer to assist Syria in getting rid of the offensive weapons. That was never completed, and subsequently the chemical offenses continued.
Constitutionally, the Congress must approve the U.S.’s going to war. Since WWII, the definition of, “War,” has become so muddled – and the Congress so blame-cautious – that, generally, presidents can go to war when they dammed well please. The brave Congress is there, of course, to approve or not, depending upon the political winds of the moment. Ergo, the compulsive Donald Trump had no trouble going it alone. Apparently, he did advise Congress beforehand.
Historically, The U.S. populace has been forgiving of presidents for their lack of constitutional protocol. Jefferson’s Louisiana Purchase comes to mind, as well as Lincoln’s ignoring of habeas corpus and Franklin Roosevelt’s pre-war aid to Europe. In this case, apart from a few rumblings, Trump has the support of Congress. Although little stated up to this point, it must be apparent to POTUS and the People that the message of those Tomahawk missiles did not rest in Syria. It continues on, around the world, with a little longer stayover in North Korea, and ending its loop, again in the Middle East:
“War-averse Obama is gone. You are now dealing with a sombitch as crazy and precipitous as any of you. So, watch your heads – the Tomahawks are flying!”
***** ***** *****
Barack said, “No” to WMD.
Bashar said, “I’ll send them to sea.
Turned out, he did not.
Putin fed the plot.
The Donald said, “This shall not be!”
AU REVOIR, ANASTASIA YERMANOS
(This visually
impaired writer teaches Spanish at the San Diego Braille Institute for the Blind. One of the group, a lady from Greece, whose mother was Swiss, allowed us to include French in the class. Quite suddenly, she was taken from us. This is a tribute.)
Stacey, we called her – what a gal!
Stately was more like it – more like an Old World pal.
In Spanish class, she
was Usted, never, tú;
Because of her
persona, it was the right thing to do.
She lived in an era
of white gloves and hats;
When she was a child,
dandies wore spats.
She came from a
Europe that's now in the books.
Before the Swastika and master-race kooks;
A blend of two
peoples, in language she thrived.
Throw in the piano –
no jive –
The classics enthralled
her – Mozart and Chopin.
Her world was
elegance – yes, pearls in a strand.
She showed breeding
all over;
Was polite in speech;
A painting in clover;
But, not out of
reach.
Her warm, human nature
Embraced you on
sight.
In Braille
nomenclature,
See you, she might.
But, still, in her
presence,
You always felt warm.
There was something
about her –
Her still, quiet
charm.
Adieu, Stacey, cherie,
Adiós, goodbye
–
But, no –
au revoir to thee,
'Til we
meet, bye and bye.
CASTRO STORY: BLACK AND WHITE – YES AND NO
Cuba’s history began when Christopher Columbus, after partially sailing around its endless coastline, pronounced it to be the mainland of Cathay (China). He never set foot on mainland North America. As a late-late comer, British/USA North America’s history in some ways parallels and intersects with that of Cuba’s. Both nations exploited human beings and immersed the importance of that exploitation in telling the story of their evolution. Both tales are black, white and grey in substance; those involved are also Black, White and other people of varied combinations of ethnicity.
The jubilant scenes in Miami’s Little Havana, celebrating the demise of Fidel Castro, probably resemble those throughout the Confederacy after the Lincoln assassination. The celebrants in both cases were deprived of status, property and dominion over other humans. In Cuba’s case, the iron chains long had been lifted from the human chattel, but the social and economic restraints still were well in evidence. As a matter of fact, that is a part of the panoply of events that led to the rise of the Castroites.
Cuban President Fulgencio Batista had permitted U.S. gambling and other tourist-attraction interests’ carte blanche in Havana’s hotels, gin mills and brothels. All of this was at the expense of the Cuban people, whose roll it was to support this foreign takeover. In the meantime, the Guajiros in the mountains were going unfed and uneducated. Although many Cubans are racially mixed (including the then-president), those of obvious African origin were banned from the capital city’s beaches.
The U.S. supported the victorious Castro for a while. After the U.S. rejection, Castro announced that he always had been a socialist, and that one day history would absolve him. Castro went on to institute free education and medical care for all. After eliminating racial segregation and declaring social equality, the moneyed folks began their exodus to Miami. They finally are free of their nonagenarian tormentor.
Since Castro, Cuba has gone from the bottom to the top of nations with regard to literacy. With its concentration on healthcare for all, Cuba has so many doctors that it farms them out to other nations. When our southeast cities were ravaged by hurricane-induced flooding, offers by Cuba to send doctors were rejected.
After the Obama efforts to normalize relations with Cuba, who knows what steps the incoming administration may take. However it may go – with or without Fidel Castro – the Cuban people will survive. They are a hardy lot.
***** ***** *****
A Cuban by name of Fidel
Once caused Uncle Sam lots of hell.
Now he’s gone away;
What more’s there to say –
“Adiós; hope Old Nick treats you well”?
WORTHLESS SANDS OF TIME
O Israel!
Thy fight is not with the static, impoverished Palestinian.
Why struggle with that wretched, thin strip of desert from which thou departed in
ancient times?
Left behind, buried there, is the sandy hue of thy discarded hide..
Thou spreadest thyself among European nations, which became more and more transfixed
by thy rejected son.
Even whilst thou became integral amongst those people, the incompatibility of the
Crucifix and the Menorah formed a wedge which drove thee from border to shore.
Ultimately, the vitriol terminated in an unconscionable attempt to eradicate thy earthly
presence.
This was not a Palestinian doing.
Thy just ire is unjustly directed.
The lands thou rightly should be seeking to inhabit should be the lands wherein
thou wast a part of the culture; the lands of those whose tongues thou spoke;
the lands where – other than the fact that thy Bible ended with the Old
Testament, thou wert but one among many.
That is where thy anger truly lies!
There is where thy significant, national strength in arms should be directed.
There within lies thy righteous claim -- not with those innocent, desert dwellers
whose simple life and culture thou abandonest centuries ago!
Thou canst not revert thy second exodus so radically.
O Israel!
Thy poor Palestinian cousin and the least of thee remained where the sun baked the
sand and their skin, and for centuries have shared their arid fellowship.
Thy renewed claim of return and ownership is false.
Go, takest back what truly was stolen from thee.
Go, reclaimest thy European culture, language, expropriated property and lands.
What seekest thee there, in those worthless sands?!