Bark Less
Wag More
I saw that decal on this morning's walk. Bingo. A dog opens your eyes to love and common sense.
Friday, January 20
Thursday, January 19
The Reno Kid
It's time to thank The Reno Kid for Cookie. Reno has not met Cookie yet, but she played a key role in my Cookie-ing. I met Reno in Michigan in the 7th grade. I was new to the school and I picked her out as the cutest girl and decided on the spot that I wanted to be her best friend. I never thought I'd make it--she had such long legs and seemed masterfully self-confident--but I made it: we became best friends.
Now it is decades later. Reno called me the day before New Year's Eve and said, "You know, I think you need a dog." I said, "Ok."
The day before, unbeknownst to us, Cookie (then nameless) had been dropped off at a kill-place. On the 30th JJ retrieved her--only because the doggie she'd gone to pick up had been adopted that morning. Cookie made it through that narrow place in just the nick of time. This is a picture of her at the pound, ears hanging, and, as Auntie Jean said, determined, but frightened. JJ to the rescue.
She got her fixin' and stuffs 'n Stephanie took her from JJ, named her Zoey, & I appeared in Stephanie's yard for that date with the first kiss.
Cookie was the cutest doggie. I picked her right then and there--just like I picked Reno. We dated on the 4th and 5th, and she slept over on the 6th.
The next week, I got a brief case of cold paws. I emailed Reno in Texas that I was a creative type, a change type, not a CEO, not a steady type. Would I tire of a dog the way I tire of any routine (the gym, journaling, juicing, cooking this food or that, this way or that, eating at the table, eating on the couch, eating in bed, eating at the table, not eating, eating, those shoes or those, blue jeans or dress-up, that metier or this --whatever: I am always changing. I write a syllabus for each class, and then I forget to check it, always coming up with the new idea of the day. I ask my students what's due!) What if ... say ... I forgot about the dog or regretted the dog?)
Reno said, "OK, time to talk." We spoke for an hour. Reno's been a dog person all her life, starting with Mikey in the 7th grade, a doggie I then knew for five years. Though my family was dogless and maybe even anti-dog, I totally accepted Mikey. He was Mikey. Wuff.
Reno was incredibly sensible. She started with, "Ok, I've always been a dog person, I grew up with a dog, I cannot imagine living without a dog, but it is a bold step for you." Then came the outpouring of wonder and delights and depths of dogging, particularly with her Scarlett, the long-legged in Texas. I knew Reno was right -- or that I wanted to be right, like Reno.
Reno was always better at French vocabulary than I was in the 10th and 11th grades. It would have been annoying if it had not been so remarkable, the way she could pick up those words, les mots. And she seemed correct about the wonder and sensibility of having a dog (chien?)--at least for herself. Well, one of the wonders for me, is Chienning with The Reno Kid. Wuff. How do you say Wuff in French?
Now it is decades later. Reno called me the day before New Year's Eve and said, "You know, I think you need a dog." I said, "Ok."
The day before, unbeknownst to us, Cookie (then nameless) had been dropped off at a kill-place. On the 30th JJ retrieved her--only because the doggie she'd gone to pick up had been adopted that morning. Cookie made it through that narrow place in just the nick of time. This is a picture of her at the pound, ears hanging, and, as Auntie Jean said, determined, but frightened. JJ to the rescue.
She got her fixin' and stuffs 'n Stephanie took her from JJ, named her Zoey, & I appeared in Stephanie's yard for that date with the first kiss. Cookie was the cutest doggie. I picked her right then and there--just like I picked Reno. We dated on the 4th and 5th, and she slept over on the 6th.
The next week, I got a brief case of cold paws. I emailed Reno in Texas that I was a creative type, a change type, not a CEO, not a steady type. Would I tire of a dog the way I tire of any routine (the gym, journaling, juicing, cooking this food or that, this way or that, eating at the table, eating on the couch, eating in bed, eating at the table, not eating, eating, those shoes or those, blue jeans or dress-up, that metier or this --whatever: I am always changing. I write a syllabus for each class, and then I forget to check it, always coming up with the new idea of the day. I ask my students what's due!) What if ... say ... I forgot about the dog or regretted the dog?)
Reno said, "OK, time to talk." We spoke for an hour. Reno's been a dog person all her life, starting with Mikey in the 7th grade, a doggie I then knew for five years. Though my family was dogless and maybe even anti-dog, I totally accepted Mikey. He was Mikey. Wuff.
Reno was incredibly sensible. She started with, "Ok, I've always been a dog person, I grew up with a dog, I cannot imagine living without a dog, but it is a bold step for you." Then came the outpouring of wonder and delights and depths of dogging, particularly with her Scarlett, the long-legged in Texas. I knew Reno was right -- or that I wanted to be right, like Reno.
Reno was always better at French vocabulary than I was in the 10th and 11th grades. It would have been annoying if it had not been so remarkable, the way she could pick up those words, les mots. And she seemed correct about the wonder and sensibility of having a dog (chien?)--at least for herself. Well, one of the wonders for me, is Chienning with The Reno Kid. Wuff. How do you say Wuff in French?
Wednesday, January 18
Down with Sophistication!
Cookie had her first moments without me yesterday evening: four hours. Auntie Jean came over which was extraordinarily nice of her, but, she reported, Cookie part of the time sat waiting with her nose to the door. When I drove up she knew, Auntie reported, and when we touched I thought I saw joy. I had never before seen joy move around. Human joy is so much more sophisticated. It was thirty seconds later that joy jumped that little red body around, and around, and around, and around. I said, "That's your tail." Auntie Jean just looked at me and cocked her chin down and said, "She didn't do that when I came in." Jumps and more jumps and paws up followed the caramel spinning. It was joy!
Have I ever, ever, ever been as happy as Cookie was happy? Maybe that first Christmas when Bruce appeared at my Manhattan door, arms full of wrapped gifts and I knew for the first time in thirty years that there was a Santa Claus, but my human body probably tried to act sophisticated. Maybe when we moved into this house when it was all empty and we brought up two director's chairs to sit on, candles, cheese, and wine--but that is just a house, and I didn't run around in circles and jump up. I sophisticated and probably said smart things. Maybe that night when Mr. Musse appeared in another Manhattan door years later, late, from the plane, bringing the gift of himself, and we sophisticated and said smart things. Maybe when I saw my mother so peaceful and beautiful at death. You cannot call that joy, but it was fullness, just as full as Cookie's joy was full. I don't remember joy when I got my PhD--that was just a PhD. Proud, maybe, but that 'ain't' joy. Joy joy joy ... let's see ... Ah. Maybe always dog related, as in the feather bed in Redmond with the bubbly wind comin' in from the window and Keno and Turbo making big dents in the feathers, four bodies, just lying around. Maybe when the white Honda FIT was first parked outside--but that is just a car. I liked it a lot, a lot a lot, but joy? Joy? It was good jumping back in a swimming pool two years ago after being dry for thirty years. But joy? It was laps. Joy? It was pretty close to joy when I put the song in the can in three hours at The Grand Master Studio, but 9/11 had just happened and joy was drained from all the earth, which was what the song sang. Joy in the Grand Canyon on the river? That was close, when you scream, wet all over, for five hours in a row. Yes, that was close to joy. Joy. That's that stuff we knock out of a kid, isn't it, with a "Calm down."
Cookie's joy last night was so joyful that it got in me. It jumped inside. It was the best joy, model joy, unbounded joy. Unsophisticated joy.
Today I have to leave for the second time. What will await me at 6:30? Could there be more? I think the answer will be yes and the real question is about me: will I always feel it as I did last night when it jumped inside? My heart crumpled! The walls of my heart came down!
Have I ever, ever, ever been as happy as Cookie was happy? Maybe that first Christmas when Bruce appeared at my Manhattan door, arms full of wrapped gifts and I knew for the first time in thirty years that there was a Santa Claus, but my human body probably tried to act sophisticated. Maybe when we moved into this house when it was all empty and we brought up two director's chairs to sit on, candles, cheese, and wine--but that is just a house, and I didn't run around in circles and jump up. I sophisticated and probably said smart things. Maybe that night when Mr. Musse appeared in another Manhattan door years later, late, from the plane, bringing the gift of himself, and we sophisticated and said smart things. Maybe when I saw my mother so peaceful and beautiful at death. You cannot call that joy, but it was fullness, just as full as Cookie's joy was full. I don't remember joy when I got my PhD--that was just a PhD. Proud, maybe, but that 'ain't' joy. Joy joy joy ... let's see ... Ah. Maybe always dog related, as in the feather bed in Redmond with the bubbly wind comin' in from the window and Keno and Turbo making big dents in the feathers, four bodies, just lying around. Maybe when the white Honda FIT was first parked outside--but that is just a car. I liked it a lot, a lot a lot, but joy? Joy? It was good jumping back in a swimming pool two years ago after being dry for thirty years. But joy? It was laps. Joy? It was pretty close to joy when I put the song in the can in three hours at The Grand Master Studio, but 9/11 had just happened and joy was drained from all the earth, which was what the song sang. Joy in the Grand Canyon on the river? That was close, when you scream, wet all over, for five hours in a row. Yes, that was close to joy. Joy. That's that stuff we knock out of a kid, isn't it, with a "Calm down."
Cookie's joy last night was so joyful that it got in me. It jumped inside. It was the best joy, model joy, unbounded joy. Unsophisticated joy.
Today I have to leave for the second time. What will await me at 6:30? Could there be more? I think the answer will be yes and the real question is about me: will I always feel it as I did last night when it jumped inside? My heart crumpled! The walls of my heart came down!
Tuesday, January 17
New Dog: Day 5, morning.
My neighbor said after my dog tales of just one day: "I see you're being pulled into your dog's world."
Ha. And here I thought I was pulling the dog into my world. I did not realize that it was a two way street. We miss so much without a dog. I threw the Rune Stones the day after I met her (she kissed me on the first date) and the stones said "Partnership." That was much better than Spikey the black dog; the stones for Spikey said "Disruption." It's not that Cookie is not disruption, too, but she is a disruption of singlehood into partnership. If she is my partner, I get to experience her as she gets to experience me.
Yesterday, she made 20 friends, which is more than I made in the past 10 years. They were all very good friends, too: positive, upbeat, open, happy to see her, and giving. Most of the relationships were brief, but each one could have been life long if the geography was different, e.g.,I am not going to move in to the Honda dealership.
Besides the responsibility, which is great, the main thing about having a dog is how it changes your relationships with humans. So many people talk to you. "Well, hi." "What's your name?" "May I pet you?" These are things we could be saying to one another, but we do not. It is as if we walk around the world trying to ignore each other.
The dog has got the basics down: exercise, greetings, and expression of happiness. Occasionally it is necessary to express caution or even fear (and its attendant aggression), but 90% of the time, expression is joy. Maybe some of that will rub off on me (instead of or in addition to the fleas).
My dog loving friends would say when I was getting cold paws about this life change: "you'll see that the positives will outweigh the negatives." Or, "Cookie will be your best friend." Or, "In a few months she will seem like she's been a part of your family always." Or, "Do it. You deserve a dog." These proclamations were positive, but intellectual. It's when you see her face and you feel in your chest that you have adopted someone who cannot talk and you are to negotiate everything with looks and feelings and tones that she begins to sink down into your heart and open it up. Cookie! Aaaa, Cookie Girl.
PS: Why didn't you pee this morning? Addendum, she peed.
Ha. And here I thought I was pulling the dog into my world. I did not realize that it was a two way street. We miss so much without a dog. I threw the Rune Stones the day after I met her (she kissed me on the first date) and the stones said "Partnership." That was much better than Spikey the black dog; the stones for Spikey said "Disruption." It's not that Cookie is not disruption, too, but she is a disruption of singlehood into partnership. If she is my partner, I get to experience her as she gets to experience me.
Yesterday, she made 20 friends, which is more than I made in the past 10 years. They were all very good friends, too: positive, upbeat, open, happy to see her, and giving. Most of the relationships were brief, but each one could have been life long if the geography was different, e.g.,I am not going to move in to the Honda dealership.
Besides the responsibility, which is great, the main thing about having a dog is how it changes your relationships with humans. So many people talk to you. "Well, hi." "What's your name?" "May I pet you?" These are things we could be saying to one another, but we do not. It is as if we walk around the world trying to ignore each other.
The dog has got the basics down: exercise, greetings, and expression of happiness. Occasionally it is necessary to express caution or even fear (and its attendant aggression), but 90% of the time, expression is joy. Maybe some of that will rub off on me (instead of or in addition to the fleas).
My dog loving friends would say when I was getting cold paws about this life change: "you'll see that the positives will outweigh the negatives." Or, "Cookie will be your best friend." Or, "In a few months she will seem like she's been a part of your family always." Or, "Do it. You deserve a dog." These proclamations were positive, but intellectual. It's when you see her face and you feel in your chest that you have adopted someone who cannot talk and you are to negotiate everything with looks and feelings and tones that she begins to sink down into your heart and open it up. Cookie! Aaaa, Cookie Girl.
PS: Why didn't you pee this morning? Addendum, she peed.
Monday, January 16
Half a Dog
I began to write a piece called, "Half a Dog."
I did not dare get a whole dog: too big of a life change. I have never had a dog and what if I hated it?
I was going to propose to my neighbor, Pete, that we share a dog. Holly had died three months ago, and he announced on New Year's Eve he would not be able to resist having a dog much longer. So why not stick only my toe in the water instead of a whole foot and share a dog.
I attended a two hour class for humans while dogging at the Glendale Humane Society (good class) but afterwards I said to the teacher, "Oh, I was thinking of getting a half a dog." "What's that?" she said. "You know: share a dog with my neighbor since it is such a responsibility, but after your class I don't think that would be right." "Oh," she said, "That would work. Sure. Train her into both places and people from Day One. A half a dog. Yes." Then she added, "But if I were you, I'd make sure I got the front half."
This inspired me and I returned home to write Chapter One of "Half a Dog". We would track everything. We would keep everything straight. We could write out our "Pre-Pup" so that if we ever had to break up we could abide by our rational agreements. Chapter One was complete.
Now, I like Pete a lot, but I barely know him. Would I place the 10 page chapter on his doorstoop? Would I email it to him? Would I invite him over for a glass of wine and read it to him? Would I just knock on his door and blurt it out rather than making him read the 10 pages? Or would I go and let the river of life carry my on and go and meet ... Cookie.
Dates with Cookie and emails with her rescue ladies took over -- and then Cookie took over. How can you have just a half a Cookie?
I did not dare get a whole dog: too big of a life change. I have never had a dog and what if I hated it?
I was going to propose to my neighbor, Pete, that we share a dog. Holly had died three months ago, and he announced on New Year's Eve he would not be able to resist having a dog much longer. So why not stick only my toe in the water instead of a whole foot and share a dog.
I attended a two hour class for humans while dogging at the Glendale Humane Society (good class) but afterwards I said to the teacher, "Oh, I was thinking of getting a half a dog." "What's that?" she said. "You know: share a dog with my neighbor since it is such a responsibility, but after your class I don't think that would be right." "Oh," she said, "That would work. Sure. Train her into both places and people from Day One. A half a dog. Yes." Then she added, "But if I were you, I'd make sure I got the front half."
This inspired me and I returned home to write Chapter One of "Half a Dog". We would track everything. We would keep everything straight. We could write out our "Pre-Pup" so that if we ever had to break up we could abide by our rational agreements. Chapter One was complete.
Now, I like Pete a lot, but I barely know him. Would I place the 10 page chapter on his doorstoop? Would I email it to him? Would I invite him over for a glass of wine and read it to him? Would I just knock on his door and blurt it out rather than making him read the 10 pages? Or would I go and let the river of life carry my on and go and meet ... Cookie.
Dates with Cookie and emails with her rescue ladies took over -- and then Cookie took over. How can you have just a half a Cookie?
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