Remembering Pookie

-originally printed in the Lexington Herald - 2007

Pookie, my little dog, is a miniature silver-dappled dachshund. She is not dead yet, but she quit eating dog food a week ago. She quit eating people food two days ago, and she quit drinking water early today and seems to have slipped into a coma. She hasn't quite made 16 years. When she picked up and then dropped without eating a juicy piece of freshly baked ham two days ago, I could see the end was near, for she desperately loved people food.

Two years ago at Christmas, she suffered a disk injury -- to which dachshunds are susceptible -- and that required a $2,000 operation to fix. Even though the operation was successful, she never recovered the full use of her hind legs. Thus, I or my wife had to carry her wherever we wanted her to be, and she has truly spent a lot of time in our arms over the last two years.

Pookie is a beautiful little dog, with her black silver-dappled body, ears, and head, and her brown face, chest, leg, and eye-brow markings, which are now mostly gray. When she perked up her ears and cocked her head to look up at me, she was absolutely, irresistibly lovely.

Gerard Manley Hopkins expresses well my feelings in Pied Beauty. The people and creatures we love, I think, become a permanent part of us, fill out our being. When they die, a part of us dies too, with only the memories to show us who we really are. Pookie, with her beautiful furry face, eager eyes and perked-up ears, will always be a really good part of who I am, a small but extremely important and extremely well-loved part.

A few days later I sent this follow-up:

Life, I find, is not only precious but tenacious. Pookie would wake up, drink water, and drift off to sleep again. She appeared to be dying, but she would hang on. She was, after all, a dachshund. Thus, it seemed best for her, reasonably, not emotionally, that we call the veterinarian. Last night I did; the veterinarian, blessedly, came to the house this morning and gave Pookie her last shot ever. Even in such a weakened state (she was just skin and bones), Pookie fought the needle but did succumb. She died this morning around 11:30.

The little dog has lain next to me on the big dad chair every evening for the past 15 years. I watch TV or read and run my hand down her head and body. Every night she slept at the foot of the bed between my wife and me. I can't imagine her not being there. I guess that is one of the consequences of getting old. Everything around us gets old too. I always understood Pookie to be a real gift, one I was truly grateful for, but one I just wasn't ready to give up.

Simon, the loudest voice on Fairway Drive.

There I was, soundly asleep this morning and it was only 11 a.m.  Suddenly I came awake to the sound of one very loud bark.  I woke up in terror and confusion, looked at the doorway to the bedroom, and there he was, Simon, feet planted, looking back at me, as if to say, "You've been there long enough."  Once he had made his point, apparently, he walked across the room and settled down on one of the two huge dog pillows we have on the floor next to the bed.  And he went to sleep.  For heaven's sake.  What was that all about?  A dog's mind is a mystery, mostly.

Simon is the most vocal when he has a specific desire, even when we don't understand what it is.  He barks to be let in when he's out, he barks to be let out when he's in.  Now Schuster does too, somewhat.  The problem with Schuster is that he is a continuous barker: all the way to the dog walk yesterday; for at least 3 hours when someone arrives, and so on.  Simon is a precise barker.  One loud bark in the bedroom this morning, one loud bark at the door last night.  Did he want out, as you might think?  No, he wanted me to leave the big dad chair and come to the door, so that he could get to the chair and settle down for the rest of the evening.  Simon.  The thing is, he stayed with me this morning until I got up, got dressed, made the bed, took my pills, and left the bedroom.  Now that's a friend, and I did need to wake up.  At my age one never knows.  Except, apparently, Simon.

Of course I have left out Dexter, who is a whole different kettle of fish, as my mother used to say.

Simon incarcerated...

Back to the Fifties Tonight

                #465

            Ah, Judy, Judy!

Back in the day, when smoking was good,

And young men and women behaved,

We kissed in the back seat,

With lungs full of smoke,

And laughed that we might be depraved!

Behavior Modification LVII

Today was another day for a walk, with my good buddy Simon.  Mary had the other three.  Mary, as usual, was almost to the end of the trail where it either turns left to the golf course or continues on out of sight, round a bend.  Simon and I were about 60 feet from the gate at the beginning of the trail.  Simon didn't want to go down the trail today.  He had seen a lady with a large polar bear behind us and wanted to go back.  I tugged, he planted his feet, five minutes later we were still there discussing directions and behaviors, but the lady and the polar bear had disappeared.

I finally got him to walk with a compromise; neither ahead nor behind; instead, we went off the trail and into the field beside the trail.  Simon loves fields because he can suss out burrowing things.  He ran happily for a while, sticking his nose here and there, till he discovered that we had not only been going out but also going down the field and were indeed almost to the end of it.  That was also when two enormous dogs came dashing at him, an experience he hates.  One of them just clipped him, but that was enough .  He quit again.  

By this time I had had it with the treacherous little beast.  I tossed down my cane, picked him up, tucked him under my right shoulder, picked up my cane, and started walking, whispering in his ear, "Would you rather walk or ride, walk or ride?"  Fortunately, after being bounced none too gently for about 30 feet, when I set him down in the grass by the side of the trail, he chose to walk, happily, as if it were what he wanted to do from the beginning.  Problem solved, this time, and he thinks he won, I know he does, for I saw him smirk when I put him down.

Behavior Modification LVI

Guy I know was walking past his love seat, when he saw his little red dachshund lying there.  He stopped, started to sit on the arm of the love seat, missed half of the arm, slid off the arm onto the seat whereupon gravity took over, he slid off the seat and landed on the floor next to his Jack Russell terrier who was lying there.  On the floor he had his back to the footstool that sits there, which the dogs use to climb onto the love seat.  So, feeling foolish my friend gave his JR a belly rub which she adores as if that were his entire reason for dropping down there.  Meanwhile, his little red dachshund had jumped down to the footstool and began chewing and licking his ears.  What an experience my friend had with his creatures.

Behavior Modification LV

When the storms roll through, Frollie, our not so brave alpha, stays close to my feet and shakes uncontrollably.  The other three do not seem to notice the thunder and rain, unless they have to go out.  None of them like to get rained on.

Mary and I were watching a show on Netflix at 5:30 today; Schuster was asleep on the top of the love seat.  The moment passed and he didn't start to pester till 6:10.  Hmm.  I actually had something interesting to describe today, but that moment has apparently passed too.  Good night one and all.  3:34 am.

Behavior Modification LIV cont'd

Mary and I were exhausted when we got home, for various reasons.  She had been at the lake for two days; I had been awake and moving meaningfully earlier than usual.  (I do not do lakes anymore, really.  And the lakes seem better off for my absence anyhow.)

Around 3:30 we both fell asleep in the living room (the living room looked more like the dead zone).  She was comfortable on the sofa; I was somewhat uncomfortable in the big dad chair since I hadn't planned on falling asleep.  My faithful dog Simon was sound asleep beside me.  And so the afternoon passed into the late afternoon, when I slowly became aware of a tiny whine being repeated at ever louder decibels, and I heard the telltale bounce, bounce, bounce.  I readjusted my neck and looked up at the clock.  It was exactly 5:30.   Schuster, as well as his brothers and sister, gets fed at 5:30 every day usually.  It was exactly 5:30, and there he was, bounce, bounce, Feed Me!   

I staggered to my feet, went to the kitchen, got out the four bowls, and fed him/them.  How did he know it was time?  That, I'm afraid, will remain one of the great mysteries of western civilization.  To the minute he knew it was time for his supper.  The other three slept on.  Only Schuster seemed to know.  I'm beginning to think he's a house elf, or something other than just a hungry dachshund.  A little bit scary.

Behavior Modification LIV

I'm afraid that if I mess with the picture entry, the picture will vanish.  I'm still not sure how I managed to get it from Mary's Facebook page to here.  Surely my accomplishment is a technological wonder.

In any case Mary and I went to Michael and Katie's for brunch around 12:30 p.m.  Their two dogs were wonderfully friendly.  Kipper the lapdog managed to bounce into my lap at one point and even let me love on him a bit; Rascal the very large overly friendly and extremely loveable doggie dog sat next to me so I could scratch his ears and pat his head frequently.  Full of strange dog odors then, I came home and was set upon by my good buddy Simon who is usually too comfortable to bestir himself: "Oh, it's you."  Not today.  I plopped down on the love seat after releasing Schuster, and Simon was there, on my lap, sniffing me from head to toe.  He even got his head stuck between my leg and the seat trying to get at the new smells.  Nice to be an object of interest to him for a change.

Schuster!

Behavior Modification LIII

Before we left for Mass tonight, I carried little Schuster's cage into the living room.  I had trouble opening the door to the cage and happened to notice that little Schuster was patiently standing behind me waiting for me to open it so that he could enter.  This from the little dog who is patient about nothing. Bounce, bounce.

I felt guilty, yet the only reason we "crate" him is that he can't be trusted not to tear the house apart when we aren't here.  He even tears things up when we are here if he knows we aren't looking.  He got a magazine cover again last night.  Or early this morning as he apparently got up this morning before I did.  Lately, he seems to be able to distinguish between that text which will get him in serious trouble and the text that will bring forth only a mild reprimand.  He's so cute!

Well, when we returned from Mass, he bounced in his cage till we got there to release him; once released he dashed out as usual, did a quick turn around to go back for his toy tiger, but then he did a new thing.  He grabbed the toy tiger and brought it to me to play with him.  Delighted I grabbed the tail and gave it a couple of tugs, got it away from him, tossed it across the room.  He chased it and brought it back to me so we could do it again.  Oh joy.  Little Schuster is becoming a real pet in the best sense of the word.

When he is resting on top of the aptly named love seat, and I stop to stroke his soft back, he will even turn over now secure in the knowledge that a belly rub will be forth coming.  Little Schuster!

Behavior Modification LII

Schuster is a swimmer.  Who knew?  On the hiking trail Sunday, Schuey was doing his best to stay with Frollie who was running free when we went down to the water at Silver Creek, just after the bridge.  Frollie was on the far side and coming back to us through the water when she hit a deep spot and had to swim for it.  Meanwhile Schuey was on his lead and thus with us.  The lead is long enough that the two dogs could meet in the middle Of the wide creek. Thus we got to see Schuster and Frollie swimming side by side through the deep part, Schuster with his bright green jacket on, swimming fiercely back to the bank.

At home Schuey tends to stay fairly close to Tio Dexter, the regal beagle.  On the hiking trail it's a different matter.  He struggles against the lead constantly to keep up with Frollie, the Jack Russell terrier.  He is also noisy; he cries piteously from our house to the trail, and frequently sets off the other three so that we arrive at the parking lot in a wave of desperate cacophony, along with squirming, bouncing, and genuine jolly eagerness, announcing our presence: "We're here, folks!"

Good night all, or good morning.

On the Cosmic Level, Gravity...

                 #464

            Playground

Earth is tethered to the stars,

As are Jupiter and Mars,

Like the schoolyard ball and rope:

Such is the grounding of our hope.