A Very Good Day

So what constitutes a "very good day" in retirement? Saturday, September 17th, 2011.

I slept reasonably well - but with the assistance of a quarter of a pill. Had breakfast and switched on the TV for early morning news but happily found a soccer game. I watched Blackbury defeat Arsenal 4-3 in a great match (except for the defense). Next I did my weekly computer calculation of my finances and noted with bankster satisfaction that a small pile of equities had added significant digits of value. Then for exercise at 11:00 AM I went over to the Humane Society and worked with Tango, a one year old Chow/Bulldog mix (he had diarrhea), then Honey a Pit mix, "dog aggressive" but with an outstanding repertoire of "tricks". Finally Tara, a brown and white Australian cattle dog, easily upset and a tad mouthy - handled by "K-9 Coaches only". In any event I generously offered Tara and my services to Jay if he needed another dog for his agility course demonstrations - this was Adoptathon Day on campus and there were guests wandering about. Not only was our offer rejected but I was told to "get Tara away from the agility yard".  I felt that Tara and I had been "dissed". But Tara did not seem to notice let alone care - so we walked, I brushed her out, we shared some snacks and soon I didn't care either. Tara is a wise dog. Returned home at 1:30 PM and ate left over Chinese food - absolutely great - then napped briefly. Next I drove downtown to the Hollywood 20 complex and saw Contagion, a fine movie. At home again I immediately scrubbed my hands in hot, soapy water - twice. Drank two vodkas slowly (Russian Standard, a fairly ordinary vodka but the bottle is dramatic) preparing dinner - more leftover Chinese food - and the truth is it was even better than at lunch. I complimented it with a bottle of Modello especial. That evening I watched Notre Dame football beating up Michigan State briefly, couldn't stand it. So I shifted channels and watched some soccer from Estadio Technilogico - Monterey verse Cruz Azul - but it failed to hold my attention. So at 10:00 PM I went to bed to read. There I continued Absolute Monarchs, an overwhelming history of the papacy (i.e. too many characters for my old brain to track, remember and digest.
Occasionally things just all seem to come together and it's a very good day.

Swede's Obit - November 17, 2006

                                     
Swede, my dog and wonderful friend died at the Marquis Ranch in Sarasota County on the morning of November 16th, 2006. At the age of 14+, Swede had a number of health problems one of which was a tendency to stagger. Left unattended - John was on the computer - Swede fell unnoticed into the swimming pool and drown. On medications Swede also had cancer, kidney problems, arthritis and mental deterioration that forced him at night to wander the house. He was buried, in his favorite sleeping position in the St Francis of Assisi Pet Cemetery on the Marquis Ranch.
     Swede at age 4 months was a resident of the Sidney NY Dog Shelter. On a Saturday in March 1992, the Shelter ran the pictures in the Daily Star of twenty dogs and cats looking for homes. John immediately drove to Sidney. After parking the car he could see a line of cages and all save one enclosed a barking dog. A white puppy was sitting on his haunches and like the others was looking in a single direction - but remained silent. John adopted him - a Great White Pyrenees / Husky mix. After a short, petting, licking, love fest "Swede" was named and they went home to Oneonta.

                                                     Molly and Swede

                                            Over 14 years Swede was John's friend and companion. There were only two months of Swede's life that John knew little about. Swede stayed with a friend and during this time he was shot in the left foreleg. Except for this Swede had a good life. At 18 Central Ave he had a run in the backyard and a doghouse that he rarely entered - only in pursuit of a snack. (Swede loved baloney, cheese and rawhide sticks.) He enjoyed the snow and would always roll and frolic in the first white of winter. Summers he enjoyed a good game of ball - happily he would chase and retrieve his deflated soccer ball. There was at least one long walk a day most frequently on the unpaved West End Extension. There he often had a chance to pursue his favorite pass time - chasing deer. He never caught one and in fact on one occasion was chased back to John by an irate and fearless doe. Swede was an excellent dog with the grandchildren - friendly and always gentle.
     Swede had close friends. Molly, a Husky mix, lived at 18 Central Ave for a few years and had a parallel run. Together they shared snacks, walks and scrutinized everyone going up and down the street. The Great Wilber Lake Dog Fight in which Swede, Molly and John were attacked by three dogs and fought together was a Homeric event. Swede was clearly the hero of this fight, savagely defeating and scattering two of the attackers. (Of course he then sat and watched as Molly and John continued to battle the third dog.) Kitty, a perfectly white cat except for a perfectly gray tail also resided at 18 Central and was a good friend. There was Joseph, a misnamed calico cat that repeatedly embarrassed Swede by licking his face and rubbing against him at every meeting. Dolce, a plucky Cocker Spaniel and something of a tart, many times lured Swede away to run with her shoulder to shoulder up into the fields of Fly Creek. They invariably returned covered in mud, manure and on one occasion with a deceased woodchuck. In retirement in Florida Swede enjoyed many play times with Scooter, a tightly wired Papillon. Swede would have liked a better relationship with George, a Yorkie mix, but the latter rejected relationships with "dogs". Finally Swede had several fine walks with a Black Lab, Ana and a very sweet Pug, Oliver.
     My years with Swede (and Molly, Dolce, George and Scooter) clearly suggest to me that canis familiaris is a superior species to homo sapien - they engage not in war, rapine, murder or torture and have no vanity. It is also the ultimate cliche but  Swede was a wonderful friend, "my best friend". I am going to miss him terribly for a long time.
                                                      Sara and Swede

Macy's Obituary

photo by emileefuss.com

Macy died late in the afternoon of Friday, April 8th, 2011. She weighted about fifty pounds and was brown mostly, with some white on her face and the telltale pink nose. Chronologically Macy was three and a half years old. But in terms of life's wear and tear she was ten years plus. The veterinary report stated ". . . Macy has an old cruciate injury* that never healed and she has a luxating patella** on the other leg. Neither leg is a candidate for surgery as the arthritis is too extensive." On one exercise walk Macy's left rear leg seemed to fall out of joint and Christine was able to massage it back into place. Whenever I exercised her, if not actually limping she was usually favoring one leg or the other. At some point in her short life Macy had probably been hit by a car. Over the course of nine months at HSSC Macy had no luck getting adopted. The behaviorists determined that for "temperment" reasons Macy could not be adopted into a family with children under thirteen and a half years of age. For the first few months at HSSC when stressed or agitated Macy would "redirect" i.e. threaten to bite the nearest object. (She redirected on my hand once, doing no damage, when we were first getting to know each other.) Then additionally Macy was "selectively dog aggressive" There were dogs that Macy simply could not abide. This eliminated her adoptability by folks who already had a dog. Finally Macy intensely disliked the entire feline species eliminating another pool of potential adopters. But Macy was a good dog and her behavior improved over time. Her rating was dropped from "blue" to "red" meaning more volunteeers were able to exercise and fuss over her. This meant more socialization and more treats. Macy and I became friends. She greatly enjoyed hunting the occasional gecko and I occasionally helped. Two weeks before her death she won a "loose leash" competition over eight other dogs. Macy walked next to my left leg using only its movement for guidance as to which direction she should walk or turn. Macy was probably hurting with every step. She wanted to be and was a very good dog. I shall not forget Macy my friend. Her picture - a brown and white face with the pinkish nose automatically and regularly appears on my computer screen.
*cruciate ligament tear - results in pain and if untreated an unstable leg.
** sometimes referred to as a "trick knee".

Catahoula John

Catahoula John was readopted by a previous owner on January 15th, 2011.

Shelter Dogs - John (1)

photo by emileefuss.com

     I sat quietly on a 4' by 4' platform in the agility yard. John, a 75 pound, two year old Catahoula leopard dog came charging across the yard dodging obstacles and leaped up on the platform. There was the sound of paw nails digging in as John slammed to a stop and the platform trembled. Now we were sitting together, shoulders touching. I produced a delicious snack and he accepted it between remarkably large jaws. Then he leaped off to continue exploring.
     The Catahoula cur is the official dog of Louisiana and according to Wikipedia, Jim Bowie and his brother Rezin each owned one. This is my first experience with the breed and John is a great animal, a dog's dog if you understand. He is full size with black, white and gray coloring and piercing blue-white eyes. John is intelligent, likes to hug, is utterly fearless and partially deaf. Deafness is reportedly widespread among the breed but it does not seem to be much of a disability for John. He is alert to things around him and responds to hand signals and claps.
     Many dogs are leery, suspicious or outright afraid of the 20' tunnel in the agility yard. John will explore the tunnel seeking snacks. He is the biggest dog I know who has completed in both directions the 18 yard elevated dog walk (kind of a balance beam for dogs). He started up the walk by himself in his eternal pursuit of snacks while another handler and I rushed over to protect him from a possible fall.When a dog barks at him - a challenge - John looks at them with genuine interest or perhaps distain but never anxiety. His attitude seems to be "what animal could be so stupid as to challenge me". Over the past three months I have worked with John over twenty times and taken him to obedience class six times. He is my friend - and my friend desperately needs some good person to discover him and take him home.