#428
The Front Yard
See the clever nuthatch
On the maple tree;
Walking upside down he does,
Just like you and me!
Behavior Modification: Chapter Ten
Simon, the complete dachshund, grabbed the rope lying on the floor, Frollie’s rope (all dog toys are Frollie’s toys), and started shaking it vigorously, banging it repeatedly on the floor, all the while growling ferociously and turning circles. I do not know why he turns circles.
Frollie sat and watched. She pretended not to be concerned. Frollie, the complete Jack Russell terrier, looked away. Simon continued banging the dog-rope on the floor.
Finally, either tiring of dishing out a terrific thrashing to the rope or perhaps considering the rope dead, Simon dropped it on the floor and looked away.
Silently and stealthily, Frollie crossed the room, picked up the rope, and carried it back to where she had been sitting. She dropped it in front of her and looked away.
Simon, seemingly uninterested in the fate of the rope, flopped onto his side, as if waiting for a belly rub. What could I do? He’s such a beautiful little guy, and he had succeeded in taking Frollie’s toy for a while. I went over, got down on my knees, and rubbed his belly.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Nine
As I was putting my mostly empty oatmeal bowl on the floor this morning, I saw that there was a way in which Simon fulfills his role as "servant." Simon helps with the dishes, as do his two house mates, Frollie and Dexter. Of course. We finish the meal, put the bowl or plate on the floor, and Simon eagerly licks it clean. He is the Servant. He helps with the dishes. He is very thorough. He does not discriminate. He will clean up anything, well, anything except Pace picante sauce, or any hot sauce. But never mind, Frollie will lick those clean too. In fact sometimes the dishes are so clean we just put them back on the shelf.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Eight
Animals are our “servants, playfellows, jesters,” says C. S. Lewis, possibly in That Hideous Strength. While Simon is a little short on the servant side of the idea, playfellow and jester fit well. Simon’s goofiness manifests itself many ways and can break out when we least expect it.
One night, for example, Simon had gone to the kitchen for a drink, apparently. Suddenly we heard a terrible racket there, consisting of bumpings and bangings and on-the-floor slidings, accompanied with ferocious growling. When I went to see what was happening, I was nearly run over by Simon, who, with both front feet in the empty, heavy plastic water bowl, was riding or pushing the bowl rapidly around the slippery kitchen floor, growling ferociously.
Who could keep from laughing? Whether he was trying to get the bowl to fill with water or simply taking advantage of a new kind of toy, I could not say, but there was no doubt about his earnestness and his pleasure.
Now I have to pick up Dexter’s and Frollie’s food bowls as soon as they are finished eating, for Simon has discovered that their bowls slide even better than the water bowl and that, since they are metal, they make more noise.
Seeing Simon surfing the slippery kitchen floor, in a metal food bowl, is truly a sight worth seeing, providing you do not get run over in the process.
What could be better with oatmeal?
#427
Already?
Blueberries, blueberries,
Fresh from the store;
Watch them go belly up
With mold we abhor.
You must eat them quickly,
You must eat them fast;
They're so plump and luscious
It's a crime they don't last.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Seven
Precious, like awesome, is not a word I use often. However, there is an aspect of Simon’s behavior that I find precious, not in the pejorative sense of overrefined or affected, but in the sense of exquisite, extremely valuable, highly desirable, priceless.
When Simon, for example, knows for certain that all five of us, including Mary and the other two dogs, are really going for a walk this time, he hangs back at the top of the stairs to the garage and car to make sure that I am coming too. (I am always the last one ready, it seems.)
When we come back from the walk and are all in the garage, he does not dash into the house until he is again certain that I am coming as well. (It takes me a while to get out of the car.)
When we are all outside in Mary's magnificent garden behind the house, and everyone except Dexter is climbing up the steep stairs to the deck in the silver maple tree, Simon, who clearly enjoys being way up off the ground there, but who cannot do the steep stairs on his own and must be carried up, again waits to see if I am coming. Torn by obviously conflicting desires, Simon, if I am outside, waits for me. Those brief moments when I see him look for me are precious, priceless; I would not trade them for silver or gold, or a crate of dachshund puppies.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Six
When Simon looks up at me with that eager, expectant gleam in his eye, how can I deny his desire: "let me have one more Scoobie snack; pick me up; take me for a walk; hold me while the demon vac roars around the living room." How can I refuse, even when it is 6 a.m. and he wants in bed with us, even though he would not come to bed with me at 3 a.m. when I wanted him to. But there he is, paws on the side of the bed: "Pick me up." We always do.
Frollie and Simon
#426
Frollie
She watches every move I make
Where Simon is concerned,
Then summons up her saddest look
As if she's just been spurned.
Here we go again: Night Thoughts
#425
The Door
Sometimes I'll go fishing
On Death's farthest shore;
Sometimes I'll walk up to his house
And beat upon his door,
Yell, "Open up and let me in;
I can't stand it anymore!
That last sharp pain that hit me,
Knocked me to the floor.
So open up and take me;
I can't stand it anymore."
Behavior Modification: Chapter Five
Honestly, in my early mid seventies, I find nothing quite as satisfying as lying on my back on the bed, in mid afternoon, and slipping off to sleep with my little dog tucked comfortably under my arm.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Four
The Power Nap
After taking walks with Simon and eating cheese sticks with him while watching favorite TV programs, I enjoy with Simon our afternoon Power Nap, though, of course there is not much to record since we are both asleep, if everything is working correctly.
The Power Nap, however, can take place in only one of two ways: either he follows me to the bedroom, I boost him—one hand cupping his butt, one hand on his chest—onto the bed and fall down panting next to him. Or, he wakes up from his own day-long Power Nap on the sofa, discovers that I am not in the dining room working; then he walks back to the bedroom, gives one very loud dachshund bark that shakes the house and scares the bee-jeebers out of me, so that I wake up, quickly get out of bed stiffly and slowly, and boost him in the previously described manner on to the bed.
In either case, the second stage of the Power Nap is the best. With me on my back, his butt fits perfectly into my right armpit (it is as though he were made to fit there, for a bit, anyway). If all goes well we both fall asleep in that position. Deeply. Comfortably. Asleep.
One hour uninterrupted is exquisite. The only problem occurs if or when Simon hears something he thinks he needs to investigate—elsewhere in the house, for then he launches himself off either side of the bed like an unstoppable dachshund-shaped missile.
Jumping from those heights is not good for a dachshund. They can develop serious and extremely painful disc and spinal problems. Therefore, I always try to catch him and gently lower him to the floor. But he is fast and I am usually groggy, so I miss him as often as I catch him. Today I caught him, all firm and well-packed 1800 pounds of him. And the nap was just long enough.
Our last pre-Simon dachshund, Pookie, a lovely, silver-dappled dachshund, developed disc problems. I can still see the moment on our back deck when the excruciating pain began. She was twelve years old. She had just left the house and was about to run off the deck to the yard, when she let out this terrible scream and tried to turn to bite her back. Our veterinarian in Berea recommended a specialist in Lexington. The operation cost 2,000 dollars, there were no guarantees; Pookie lost the pain in her spine, but she never regained the ability to walk using her hind legs. She never fully recovered.
The thought of that trauma haunts me every day as I watch the irrepressible Simon racing up and down stairs on the slightest provocation, jumping off sofas and beds, and off the big-dad chair. It also makes me understand that, as with all things, the best Simon moments are the ones that are always this moment. That are always now.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Three
Simon’s real dachshund stubbornness comes out at times when we go for a walk. We love walks, and go one of two ways. Either Simon and I go with my wife and our other two dogs, Frollie and Dexter, to the Berea Municipal Utilities parking lot to take the new hiking trail out into the country, past the golf course, over the bridge in the woods, along Silver Creek, out to Short Line Pike and then back. The distance is up to two miles, depending on how much of it we walk. Or, Simon and I go alone, down Fairway to Forest, left up Forest to Center, and then right at the four-way stop down Center Street to the Log House. Out of town or in town. Each way has its own delights and its own frustrations.
Simon loves walks and he usually will go where I want him to go, but not always. I suspect, in spite of evidence to the contrary, he thinks he is taking me for a walk because he is always out in front on the lead. What else would lead mean, after all. But there are times when he doesn’t want to go the way I want to go. When that happens he drops behind a bit, plants his feet and simply stops. I continue on, the lead drops behind and becomes taut. I turn to see what he is doing and find him standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his feet planted and his ears perked. “Come on Simon.” I tug the line a bit. He just looks at me. He doesn’t budge. I never know what the problem is or why that way is not as good as this way. Sometimes he will give in and move forward. Sometimes I give in and see what he wants to do. What he usually wants to do is go a different direction. Well, I think, it is his walk too. Why not? So off we go in a different direction, and all is yet again copacetic.
Once when we were going the country route, for some reason, about fifty yards down the trail, he decided he did not want to go that way that day. He planted his feet and wouldn’t budge. Nothing I could do or say would make him move. Unfortunately I find the image of a small black dog refusing to move rather funny, and I started to laugh. My wife was getting impatient, however. “He’s a dog. You’re a man. Show him who is boss.” Sure. “Here, give me the lead,” she said. I gave her the lead. She immediately turned and started down the blacktop, Simon behind her. Simon held his ground; without turning around, she pulled harder, and of course his collar came off. I laughed some more, inside. I went and got Simon, put his collar back on, turned around and walked back to the parking lot with him, then up the hill toward town. All was well, and the rest of the walk went smoothly.
A Grub Street Versifier...
#424
Alas, Writer, Alas
I have a small felicity with language;
Would I had a larger.
I'd put a tempest in a spoon,
Conjure up a smiling moon,
Celebrate the joys of June
With a merry piper's tune.
Felicity, alas,
Has married someone other,
And I'm left a heart of glass.
Alas, for my Felicity, alas.
After Midnight...
#423
Silence
I love the Holy Silence
Of our quiet house at night;
There's no talking,
There's no barking,
There is just the sheltering dark
With the Silence of one light.
The Truth Will Out...
#422
Now You Know
My brain is made of BBs
That rattle when I walk;
When I'm sad and shed a tear,
People stop and gawk
As BBs trickle down my cheek
To bounce off the sidewalk.
Behavior Modification: Chapter Two
After a lifetime of living with loving and attentive animals, an insight occurred to me, an analogy of sorts. Our pets, I think, are made for communion with us, their animal nature with our human nature. Our dogs in particular are made for us. When we take them into our homes, when we love them and treat them well, they become better dogs, closer to the human, and closer to fulfilling their real doggie natures, which is to be loving and serving creatures in their own right and in the world with us. C. S. Lewis, in That Hideous Strength, called the animals our "servants, playfellows, and jesters." The animal world exists in relation to our human world, the animal nature in relation to our human nature.
Now, as our dogs' animal nature is made for communion with our human nature, so is our human nature made for communion with God's divine nature. The closer we are to God, the closer we become to truly fulfilling our human nature, to becoming truly loving and giving creatures in our own right.
When we first rescued Simon from his terrible situation (the person who had owned him, vacated her apartment and left him in it alone, without food or water for four days until her landlord found him), Simon was undisciplined, and he was a runner. If we opened the front door and didn't watch him, he would dash out and we would have to chase him. Chasing a reluctant dachshund is arduous, especially when he has his own agenda. In our fenced in backyard, he would try to find a place where he could dig his way out under the fence. We never knew for the first couple of months whether, when he didn't come when called, he was in the yard or gone again. Since I loved him from the start I was terribly worried every time he wouldn't come when called. Frequently he would simply be in the backyard pursing the smell of some underground creature and trying to dig it out of the ground, and I would have to find him and carry him back to the house. Of course I always gave him a good talking-to and he always looked sorry, but the next time was the same thing. No Simon. Finally we got all of the weak places in the fence line filled in and he finally quit trying to leave.
Now he is a delightful, but sometimes stubborn, housedog who no longer waits by the door to dash out or who doesn't come when called, well usually. He is undoubtedly a dachshund in behavior (I wouldn't have it any other way), but one who is a loving part of the human world. The change from what he was five years ago when we got him is quite dramatic. He has truly been humanized.
It is, I think, true to say that Simon's animal nature was made for communion with my human nature, just as my human nature was made for communion with the divine nature of the Trinity, to be specific. The evidence for that I find in myself and in my own experience too. When I graduated from college with a BA (1962), I was an atheist, at best an agnostic, and a selfish and foul-mouthed one at that. Oddly, in graduate school I became a Christian (oddly, because in this age that is not supposed to happen since you would have to be really stupid to believe what "they" believe, and graduate schools are only for intelligent people), for I discovered that there were indeed very intelligent people who were Christians. I didn't become one without a struggle, but my struggle did lead to faith and grace. Now I find the changes in my own nature are on-going and consistent with my understanding of the divine I have come to love and desire. As little Simon is more fully dog, so to speak, I find myself more fully human in a way I would never have thought possible at 22.
And that perspective allows me now to understand that Simon is truly "a simple gift," a good gift, a gift for which I am always grateful. One of the delights of my life is to be greeted enthusiastically by him whenever I arrive home after being gone for a time: ears perked up, eyes shining, bouncing around at my feet, tail wagging rapidly, eager to be acknowledged. "He's home, he's home, he's home at last!"
[We live in an age and time that denies this hierarchical view of reality: animal, human, divine. The world view of an age, however, does not determine what is real and true finally. That is for each person to discover for him or her self, as I did, and the currency of the divine/human relationship is love and faith, not reason.]
Sometimes the center holds...
#421
Rhythm
I always hear the rhythm
In the language that I write,
Syllables that dance around
The center of the night,
Creating expectation
As they move from left to right.
Behavior Modification: Chapter One
Simon and I spend a lot of time in the blue Big-Dad Chair in the front room (living room). The chair swivels. It leans back. It's comfortable. It's a good place for reading, for watching The Americans, Justified, and Elementary on TV.
In the early part of the evening, Simon and I start out together in the chair, but we have a pattern of positions there. In the early evening, I sit on the left side next to the little table and tray, and Simon stretches out beside me on the right. A lot of eating goes on in the Brian Williams part of the evening, and I use the table and arm-rest tray for food and drink.
Simon, however, likes the left side of the chair too. Thus, if in the post Person of Interest (9-10) part of the evening, I get up to refill my drink mug or go to the back room for a fresh pack of gum, Simon will move to the left side by the time I return. That is fine, since sitting too long on the left makes my back hurt. I pat his little head and sit down on the right. All is copacetic.
Sometimes, however, if we haven't changed positions, he will get down, go to the back door and bark, as if he has to go out. When I get up and go to the kitchen to let him out, Simon will rush back to the chair, jump up, and curl up on left. Of course, now that I know what that bark means, I still choose to play his game; I go to the door as if he has fooled me yet again, for my back needs the change too. But I swear he's smiling as he passes me, racing to the chair.
Ah, the sweet mystery of life:
#420
Who Knew?
How did we get
To be who we are,
Self-aware creatures
Who live near a star,
Self-aware creatures
Whose lives are so small
That Time will consume us
Before next nightfall?
The Body Problem...
#419
Brother Ass
My body isn't doing well;
It acts much like a beast from Hell:
Hurting here, stumbling there,
Falling down most anywhere.
"Damn this Beast!" I say with feeling,
While the ground beneath me's reeling.
Yet I'll triumph o'er defeat,
Or leave him for the worms to eat.