#463
A Metaphoric Tale
Schuster wanders through the house
With his tail a wagon;
Always following behind,
It's a metaphor in kind,
Except when it's a dragon.
Behavior Modification LI
Ha! We fixed the little monster two days ago. We took all four dogs for a very long walk, Schuster pulling on his lead all the way out and all the way back. He continually tries to catch up with Frollie or Dexter who are not always tethered. That night, scattered around the living room, four very tired dogs, and no bounce, bounce, bounce at all.
Incidently, Schuster usually sleeps on top of the love seat in the groove between the rigid back and the soft pillow. He reminds me of Snoopy on top of his dog house, except that Schuster sinks down into the groove, and since he is almost the same color as the love seat, sometimes it is difficult to tell whether or not he's really there.
Another benefit of his presence up there is that I can stop on my way to the bathroom and pet him from head to tail. Even with my ruined hands I can tell that he's soft as an eiderdown pillow. He makes me think he's the kind of dog a hobbit would have if a hobbit would have a dog. It's the very hairy feet.
Behavior Modification L
We had come home from Michael and Katie's; the kids take pity and feed us, well, fairly often, actually. I had taken care of some household chores and had just plopped down next to Simon in my big blue recliner, about 5:30 p.m. Simon and I reclined.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
"Go away Schuster; I'm old; I need a nap!" (I didn't get to bed till 5 am this morning.)
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
Goofy little dog! The dogs get their supper at 5:30 pm, usually. How does he know it's 5:30, supper time?
"I need a nap. Who's the master here, little dog?" Ha! I refused to budge. Simon and I stayed reclined. Schuster went away. I fell gloriously asleep. For all of 20 minutes, when I more or less felt something (neuropathy!) chewing my fingers. Chewing my fingers! I hauled my arm back over the side of the chair.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
It's 6:10. He's hungry. He's insistent. He's trying to chew Simon's nose. I got up and fed them, all.
It's not easy being a parent.
A Final Word
In case anyone wonders, all occasions are extreme, and always have been. It just took me a while to understand that.
Behavior Modification XLIX
Life becomes extremely difficult when one reaches a certain age: that would be the age when one's body no longer functions well, at all. And yet there are Simon and Schuster, Frollie and Dexter to keep me entertained, though I have noticed that Frollie may almost have reached that age too. It takes her a while to get up and start walking in the morning, though she seems determined not to let Schuey have all the fun chasing squirrels. She races out too, barking like a banshee. Instead of always racing around the rose garden like Dexter and the dachshunds, sometimes she will surreptitiously plant herself on the boardwalk to see if a squirrel will double back. Sometimes they do.
Since Schuster behaves like a small nuclear disaster when we are away, we still "crate" him. A year ago he would run and try to hide when we brought the cage out; Mary and I would have to trap him between us. Now, we bring the cage out, open the door and he either walks or runs in. We put his chartreuse blanket in there, and a new toy tiger we bought for such occasions. And he goes peacefully and happily, apparently. He doesn't even howl before we leave or after; he saves that till we come home. Then we can hear him from the garage. "Quick, quick, climb those stairs and open my door!" And we do, at which point he races out of the cage, dashes around our feet, races back to the cage to grab a tiger, then tears around the house with his tiger by the tail. Makes coming home truly memorable. And delightful.
Language delights too
#462
Small
A minuscule mouse in a minuscule house
Lived a lifestyle lavish but small;
Thus, when he died, not a single soul cried,
For there were no souls there at all.
Behavior Modification XLVIII
After that insight, there was nowhere to go, ethically at least.
Almost every morning, I am awakened by the sounds of little dog feet racing swiftly up and down the hardwood floor of our long hallway. Schuster! They can sometimes corner him for a bit, until he does the drop and roll, but the second their attention wavers he is off again. This morning it was intense. He usually has a long toy tiger dangling from his mouth, which irritates Frollie all-toys-are-mine. Since we bought three of them, she is continually frustrated, of course. This morning Schuster had the thin blanket that like Linus he takes to bed.
I wearily lifted myself to one elbow and immediately laughed. Schuster was in the bedroom doorway, dragging this thin chartreuse (thank you Humane Society) blanket into the hall. Then he ran halfway down the hall, I heard a yelp, and ran back to our bedroom, still dragging the thin chartreuse blanket, apparently unscathed by any bigger dog encounters, and without dropping the blanket, he turned and ran again. Laughter is truly a delightful way to begin the day.
And that is the heart and soul of our relationship with Schuster. No matter how many papers he tears up, no matter how much trouble he causes, he makes us laugh.
Behavior Modification XLVII
It frequently occurs to me that if I loved people as much as I loved our dogs, I might be a good person.
A Common Prayer for Extreme Occasions
#461
Help
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ on either side.
Father,
Son,
And Holy Spirit,
Come,
With me
Abide.
Notes on the World of Perverse
Q: How can you tell the right path from the wrong path?
A: Don't choose the one most often trod (common wisdom?), for that leads either to the Emerald City or to a loss of one's real self into the world of shadows.
Q: And where would the right path have lead us?
A: No one can know until he or she takes it, though it should always lead to somewhere worth going or to someone worth knowing, in the end.
A Child's World of Perverse...
#460
Instability
The teetering tottering tall Tinker man
Went down the wrong path in the woods.
All shadows converged, but no one emerged
From the path that was long in the dark.
Now the woods hold a shadow not bold,
A shadow not cunning, not clever, not wise,
And the tall Tinker man disappeared as one can,
Going down the wrong path in the woods.
Never take the bait!
#459
Raid
The black ant waved his feelers
At all the signs of death--
Bodies stretched out on the ground,
Bodies piled up all around--
He stopped and held his breath.
Ant lungs are nonexistent;
The air just comes and goes,
Like fog on winter mornings,
Or turtles lacking toes.
With signs of death undoing
So many of his kind,
The black ant turned and fled the field,
Leaving the bait behind.
Notes on Choices
Well, the formatting wouldn't let me add the other two verses to the poem, at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Thus the split entries. I guess that is better than the alternative.
Now that I look at them again, they may work all right as two separate entities. Or perhaps I could shuffle them like a pack of cards and see whether order emerges or clarity improves.
Continued
I've been done in by the beauty;
I've been done in by the truth.
Now there's nothing left but goodness;
Goodness knows that's true in sooth.
Through the door the sunlight breaks,
Lighting up the grass:
"Enter," says the Angel voice,
"Our table's set for Mass."
Let's Try a Bit of Verse
#458
Choices in the Night
The choices that I didn't make,
I made them in my sleep.
God woke me up just yesterday,
Said, "Come and take a peek!"
I nodded in my sleepiness,
Stumbled to the door,
"Behold your invitation;
You won't get any more."
I
I
I
Behavior Modification XLVI
First I had trouble getting the website to open; then it opened but wouldn't work. I couldn't open a page to work on. But now, here I am, mostly. We shall see what happens next.
It has been another exciting evening in the neighborhood (well, the backyard garden). As usual Mary and I were watching "our" telelanovela, La Familia con Suerte, which comes on at midnight. The story had four minutes to go when Schuster begins his bouncing act: "let me out; I need to pee!" Bounce. "Let me out; I need to pee!" Bounce. We ignored him a week or so ago till the show got to a commercial. Then, we went to the kitchen where we found a huge puddle on the mat before the door. He's just a little dog, after all.
Well, I hit pause, disarmed the defense system, which the moment he hears he races for the kitchen door, barking loudly (at 1:30 in the morning). By the time he gets to the door, the other 3 dogs have joined him, all barking loudly, of course. I let them out and they and the racket disappeared into the night. Frequently, after such an exodus, the barking ceases as they settle down to do their business, or whatever. The silence didn't last long tonight, however. Fortunately Mary, closing down the new room off the dining room, heard Schuster letting loose his, "come on guys, I've got a hot scent."
Mary and I grabbed flashlights, and I my cane and off we went into the night to rescue a baby possum this time. I told the story but the story disappeared along with the baby possum we rescued from the dogs. I don't know where the rest of the post went, but I decided to let this half of it remain for posterity. Save and close. We'll see.
Behavior Modification XLV
Dogs' minds are fascinating. Since Schuster can't resist tearing up shoes, magazines, and sometimes books, we put him in a "crate" (a wire cage made for such things) whenever we leave. At first he would run for the hills when he saw the cage set out, and Mary and I would have to "trap" him between us. Now we put his toy tiger in the cage and he walks in and hunkers down on his own. He also doesn't yowl when we leave but the racket he makes when we get home and before we let him out is deafening. So darn cute.
Simon hurries to sit in my chair when he knows I am bringing my supper to the front room, because I always share with him. Since I have an armchair "table" on the left arm, as well as a small end table beside the chair there, Simon sits beside me on the right. No matter how often I get up for refills, Simon stays beside me on the right. However, once the food is gone, and I get up for a bathroom break, Simon will move to the left side of the chair, which he actually seems to prefer. Obviously he hasn't taken notes and figured this movement out, nonetheless, he almost always gets it right. He knows when the move is acceptable. Should he ever get it wrong, all I have to do is pat the arm on the right side, especially if I am carrying a plate, and he will switch sides. All things considered these movements are a finely orchestrated creaturely dance which we both have worked out. Even then there are more aspects involved in the dance than I have described. I find his behavior fascinating. That food is involved undoubtedly helps, but no one ever made him do anything. He somehow understands what is required. Part of the joy of being owned by dachshunds, I suppose.
Behavior Modification XLIV
Exciting times in the neighborhood.
I just came from the bedroom. Mary is in bed reading; 3 of the dogs are asleep on two large pet pillows we have on the floor next to the bed: Frollie is between the two pillows, Dexter and Schuster are on the second pillow, side by side, head to head. Dexter's eyes were wide open and he was looking a bit put upon; he was closer to the wall, while Schuster was curled against him, safe and secure. "Tio Dexter." Schuster's head was against the side of Dexter's head. No one moved.
Earlier, about two a.m., we were watching the latest episode of Una Familia con Suerte, when I became aware that Schuster was bouncing up and down off to the side of my chair. When that happens, all activities cease and someone, usually myself, gets up, disarms the alarm, at which point Schuster runs for the back porch door to be let out. Of course the other 3 tear to the door to be let out too, for it is night in the neighborhood and sometimes there be creatures, especially in these late or early hours, and oh the racket they get to make. I suspect one could hear them on the other side of the subdivision. Tonight was a very noisy exodus, meaning the Gang of Four probably had some hapless creature trapped somewhere. Simon is the bravest and the noisiest, and when I found him I found the creature, what looked to be a fairly young possum. With my flashlight on, I finally discovered the possum at the very top of a very short tree about three feet above my head. He never moved even with the light in his face; he just peered down at me, and the very excited dogs, and watched the commotion below. Oddly, Simon was the only one who seemed actually to know where the possum was. Shuster was running up and down the path next to the fence at the back of our property which is where the tree is, and he was having a great time. Tio Dexter was standing down the path to the left doing the beagle bellow, for which I hope the neighbors will forgive us if he and Simon woke them. I never did quite figure out where Frollie was though she too contributed to the noise. The best way to deal with such a situation, we have discovered, is to grab the the chunky, noisy, black dachshund, and carry him back to the house. Mary did. She's a woman not to be trifled with. Thus, with Simon under her arm and me leading the way with the large flashlight, we worked our way back to the house. Grab Simon and the rest follow, and they did, surprisingly even Schuey. Who knew. After all he too is a dachshund
Behavior Modification XLIII
Last night while watching Philomena, the excellent Judy Dench movie, I heard a commotion across the room, looked over that way and saw Schuey on the footstool, continually bouncing up and down on his front feet in front of Frollie who was lying on the floor before the footstool, watching him. Mary and I laughed delightedly and paused the movie to watch.
I have more to write but the cursor jumps around on the page and into what I have typed before. Very frustrating!
Behavior Modification XLII
Schuster is still skittish around people, even Mary and me. He will come to us but he doesn't like to be picked up. Of course, if there is a treat or if someone is eating, he is the first one on the scene and quite willing to take whatever morsel is available from our hands.
Thus, a while ago I came into the living room from the back of the house and saw Schuster and Dexter asleep on the love seat, the most comfortable seat in the entire house, naturally. They were sleeping butt to butt, east to west. I stopped, then sat down on the footstool directly in front of the love seat. Dexter slept on, Schuey and I just looked at one another. He is so beautiful, exquisite actually, the kind of creature you want to reach out and softly touch. I did. He held his head up for a bit while I stroked his back; after a few seconds he put his head back down on the cushion. Then he closed his eyes. I kept petting him, from his neck down to his butt. He slept on, didn't try to get away, didn't move.
I looked at him more closely than I had ever done before. He is exquisite. He weighs probably 12 pounds; thus he makes a delightful small bundle, especially when he is curled up a bit. What delights me most are his hairy ears. In fact if a Hobbit had a dog I am certain Schuster would be the dog, especially with his hairy ears and hairy feet and beautiful reddish coat with black accents. I kept on stroking his back, he turned on his side toward me, eyes closed.
Even with my ruined hands I can appreciate the value of touching, along with the value of sight. The more I looked the more I thought that Schuster's exquisite beauty and creatureliness are not ends in themselves but vehicles, so to speak, for directing thought and insight to the source of such beauty and being. This idea is difficult to explain, but the qualities inherent in matter, the beauty of the little dog, point to a reality beyond themselves. The little dog is beautiful whether there is anyone present to see the beauty or not. Ultimate reality is beautiful. The tangible points to the intangible. We want to own the beauty, make it our own. All we can do though is pet the little dog, and give thanks for such a goodness, and sometimes, for a moment, that is sufficient.