The Walnut

For some odd reason, my mom always called Warlock, "Walnut." Warlock was born 26 years ago yesterday. Bred by Rosemarie Davis, he came into our lives at 10 weeks of age and never left. The photo above was taken when he was almost 13 years old.

Warlock was an interesting dog and, by far, one of the most intelligent dogs I have ever known. He had a memory like the proverbial steel trap and was always thinking, sometimes in ways that weren't terribly appreciated. Warlock was not only bright, he was clever. And vocal. And strong. The funny thing about this boy was that he really wasn't any trouble as a pup. He was obedient and easy to live with, learned the ropes of the show ring in short order and had a temperament that was as close to perfect as they come. Then he grew up.

The first of Warlock's disasters was when he bred and tied a wire crate. Yes, there was a bitch in season in the crate but, when his efforts to get to her began, there was also a closed solid wood door and a bed between him and the crate. I'm not sure how he got through the door; when we came home, it was splintered and off its hinges. Then there was that bed. Like all beds, it had a mattress and one of my lovely old quilts. The mattress died ... well, actually, Warlock killed it. (He also killed my Raggedy Ann but that's another story.) How he managed to get every last bit of stuffing out of the mattress and spread throughout the entire room was and remains a mystery. It looked like a blizzard had hit. There was our Warlock, mounted upon and tied to the crate; the bitch inside looked partially disgusted and mostly amused. It took a pair of heavy duty pliers and the strength of 2 adults to free him and his penis. He was none the worse for wear. We were.

Warlock and my dear friend, Paula, had a very special relationship; it began when he pulled her over the top of two high-backed chairs and a table and broke her ribs. She adored that boy and brought him gifts yearly. I swear that he looked forward to her visits. Paula wrote a beautiful short story about Warlock and I will treasure it always.

When Fish was almost 6 weeks in whelp to Conan, Warlock opened a brand new jar of Filaribits. He didn't break it open; he held the bottle with his paws while he unscrewed the top with his mouth. As I said, Warlock was very bright. There were 4 other dogs in the room with him at the time, including the pregnant Fish. When I discovered the open jar and counted the remaining pills, I knew there were approximately 70 missing. With Warlock involved, he could have eaten them all himself or divided them evenly among the five of them. I spent quite a bit of time on the telephone, at 2:00 AM, with the vet on call at the manufacturer to find out what devastation was about to befall my dogs. Apparently, the only problem with the amount potentially ingested by one to five dogs was temporary liver damage. I was told to watch the color of their urine; if it turned orange, we needed veterinary help. Well, it was most interesting to stand outside at 3:00 AM, armed with a flashlight, and try to determine what shade of pee was what. Everyone was fine and Fish delivered 5 healthy babies 3 weeks later.

Warlock was relentless ... if he wanted to play, you played. If you walked away, he played alone. Besides being an excellent catcher, he excelled at both tether ball and soccer. And, he could throw. Near the end of his life, Warlock lost the function of his rear end. BUT, that didn't stop him from playing Frisbee. You could sit 10-15 feet from him and toss the disk ... he would catch it and toss it back.

Warlock was an amazing soul. I still miss his wit and his constant "banter." Can't wait to see you again, Buddy!

Shining Brightly

Dawn has always said that she has a foot in each of two worlds; she has recognized my Skater's "visits" on more than one occasion and realized things about him that I had never told her. She suggested that I keep a candle lit in the window for him every night.

Here is your candle, my precious boy; let it guide you to whatever you seek.

Birthday Bunnies

Whoever believes that there is no heaven and that the spirits of those who have gone before us do not watch and guide us from the idyllic place, has never been blessed with the love and friendship of a Dog.

Thank you for the message, Skater. Again, happy birthday, my boy.

5479 Days

Fifteen years (or 5479 days) ago, on an overcast Thursday afternoon, you entered this world and my life. In that first moment, little did I know that I was holding a tiny miracle, two pounds of fur-wrapped bliss that would forever change my life.

Our journey has been amazing, yet very unevenly weighted on those heavenly scales. You have put so much into your side, I have put comparatively little into mine. I am human, incapable of the unconditional and constant faith, devotion and love you have always given. My love for you is greater than any I have ever known yet inevitably lacks the purity of yours for me. There is a reason the God spelled backwards is Dog.

You are my prayer, my constant presence, my ever-vigilant guardian. If I could only see your beautiful face, look into the depth of your eyes and bury my face into your comforting neck once more ... then MY life would be heaven.

I miss you, Skater, sometimes more than I can stand. I pray for you, for those who went before you, but, first and last, always for you. I honor and celebrate you. And, on this sunny anniversary of your birth, I celebrate your journey and thank you for choosing me as the faulty human with whom you take that journey. I love you, Bug. Happy Birthday.

Boundiful Blessings

No, the title of this post is what I meant it to be; no typos involved.

Sometimes .... all the time ... I miss Skater so much it is palpable. One of his most endearing qualities was an immeasurable sweetness with a little bit of goofy thrown in for good measure. No matter what my mood, Skater could always bring a smile to my face or flat out make me laugh. He had talent. He had heart. He had a wonderful sense of humor.

Bounder is a very funny young dog and spending time with him, just watching him BE a dog, is one of my life's secret pleasures. Yesterday, I watched his silly antics and just reveled in my memories of THE dog of my heart. Somehow, I think Bounder knows what will make me laugh, what will make those photographs in my mind come alive again. When Skater was a baby, we called him Baby Huey; he was this goofball of a mobile stuffed toy that loved to explore and expand his unique sense of humor.

First of all, Bounder cannot seem to just lay down. Instead, he does this silly tuck and roll, eyes sparkling and tongue lolling. The end result is a major flop to the ground, on his side, with a definite grin on his handsome face. That was Skater's first "trick", invented on his own, perfected over time. It reminds me.

Both Skater and his uncle, Grouch, had a unique way of approaching someone they loved. Each would run, full tilt, straight at you. Skater ended the run with a tuck and roll. Grouch, who was a very large dog, ended his run with a dive between your legs. With his shoulders below your crotch, he would stand up straight and tip you over. Doggy bowling I suppose. Bounder has combined the two ... he runs, dives between your legs and just keeps going! It reminds me.

As I've said many times, I do ... I MUST ... believe that my Skater is still here with me. He leaves little signs and, yesterday, Bounder brought me one of those reminders. My little dork, Divot, who was raised by Skater, has always removed the eyes from all her toys; it's as if she thinks it blinds them so they won't see her coming. Skater, on the other hand, never harmed any of his precious toys. Bounder has a stuffed puppy. He obviously loves the spit-stiff little thing and he was VERY proud to share it with me yesterday. When I picked it up to throw it to him I noticed that he had removed one eye. It reminds me.

Does A Ton Weigh 2000 Pounds?

This photo was taken during Paula's first visit with us in California, well over 20 years ago. I remember how delighted she was to meet Don Quixote and I caught this image of the two of them, sitting in Helen's front yard. Although both of our lives took turns and traveled in directions neither of us could have predicted, I still consider Paula my best friend and am ever in awe of what she has accomplished, despite some terrible odds.

Skater's Uncle Ray was Paula's heart and it devastated her when he passed. She and Ray were a symbiotic pair, a joy to watch. She also had a very special place in her heart for my Warlock, (despite the fact that, on the same visit as photographed above, Warlock broke a number of Paula's ribs by pulling her over the dining room table and chairs), and he adored her like no other.

Anyway, I have often heard the saying that we are not given any more to bear than we are able and, that, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Those words are all good and well as a cliche but, when they have a direct relationship to what is current in life, they can be nothing less than daunting.

Yesterday, I learned that Paula has Multiple Sclerosis. Why? This is a woman who has devoted her life to the animals with whom she shares this planet. For many years, she has had the ability to communicate with and, therefore, kindly train any dog. Over the past few years, she has gotten heavily involved in equine rescue and it has truly become her life's passion. Now, she has to deal with the worry of how long she will be able to do what she feels is needed for her beloved animals, including those she has not yet met, those who will need her. Why?

To top it all off, yesterday, she lost her open air barn to a freak desert windstorm. It twisted and tore the metal roof and endangered Paula's horses. Thankfully, all animals and humans were safe and the horses are now boarded out until Paula can have her facilities repaired. Again, I ask why? How much becomes too much? Why would so many bad things happen to such a good person? It makes no sense to me. I will add to Skater's plan tonight; he now has a very important job - to protect my friend.

Family and Friends

This is how I imagine I will see my Skater and all those before him as they meet me at the Bridge. I love the anticipation, wisdom and peacefulness of this photo. It makes me think about the "ties that bind" and how some of those ties are so strong that nothing can break them while others snap at the slightest tension.

Part of Skater's nightly plan includes my telling him that he is my best friend ... and he is. Today, that made me think of friendships in general and familial relationships within the bounds of the same parameters that actually define a friendship. My mom is probably my best "human" friend. It took me many years into my own adulthood to realize that her love for me was absolutely unconditional; it's a nice and very warming realization. My dad was my friend but he has been gone now for almost twenty-nine years. My brother is not and will likely never be my friend; our relationship is purely an accident of birth. I have other friends who have entered into my life at different times and I am bound to them by choice. Friendship is a phenomenon unto itself; it is those ever-changing, multi-faceted and oddly balanced relationships that just plain work for the positive benefit and enhancement of those involved.

I've met many people who were and are completely baffled at the notion that a dog could be my best friend. I am equally if not more baffled at their lack of understanding so simple a concept. I've had a number of dogs over the years who were "heart" dogs, friends without whom I could not imagine living a happy life. Moo, Skater's great-grandmother and one of the kindest souls I have ever known, was my best bud for almost fourteen years. Her grandson, Grouch, the comedian, was another. I honestly can't say that there are degrees of friendship involved but, rather, a need fulfilled during certain times in my life. Moo and Grouch were there during happy times and I was less dependent upon them. Skater went through an entire cycle with me, from the heights down to the depths, and he always seemed to recognize what was needed and when.

I guess I have finally stopped feeling as though I had to compare each relationship to another, quit questioning which dog really meant the most and definitely stopped feeling guilty about even wondering such a thing. Each dog was there at exactly the right time and was exactly right for that time. To truly love a dog and for the dog to truly love you, there must be that sense of a symbiotic relationship that flows to the needs of both beings. I really believe that dogs are more in tune with that than humans are. Dogs do not try to control the emotional balance. Instead, they become a part of it, giving, taking, sharing. It's the "unconditional" that's the blessing. I have been SO blessed.