Behavior Modification CXI

I had an idea once today, involving our cat Pinkie.  Since Schuster is unrelentless in his pursuit of Pinkie around the house, reminding me of Captain Ahab's pursuit of Moby Dick, Pinkie thus stays either on her island, continuing the watery theme, or she stays downstairs in the dark, shredding boxes, or she lays on a chair in our downstairs hallway.  

I was coming downstairs to go outside and down the driveway to pick up the Sunday papers.  As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was surprised to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring back at me.  Pinkie was lying on one of the three dark chairs sitting against my wall bookshelves, the middle chair.  When she startled me with her presence, I immediately saw how Lewis Carroll might have been inspired to create the wonderful Cheshire cat in the Alice stories.  For a moment all I saw were Pinkie's bright yellow eyes against the dark chair, even though the rest of her face, head, then body came quickly into view.  If she had only grinned, that would have clinched the reference.

In the picture, which seems to be pre-Schuster, she is on the sofa, I think, and the pale spot in her middle is the absence of hair from constant licking.  The vet says cats lick themselves like that out of boredom.  You would think that with the advent of Schuster, she would not be bored, but given the abundant, hairless spots now present, that seems not to be the case.  Of course a cat's mind is as mysterious as a dog's mind, though not nearly as interesting to me.

An aha moment: Pinkie is not lying on the sofa but on our bed.  I recognized the bedspread, which covered the now-discarded old mattress.  Pinkie used to spend enormous amounts of time sleeping on our bed, as she is doing in that photo, until Schuster began his persecution. Go Schuster!  If you ever witnessed the pursuit, you would find it amusing too, I imagine, though it is probably not politically correct for me to enjoy it.  It is also very nice not to have cat-stink on the bedspread.  

While Schuster is ardent in his pursuit, if Pinkie for some reason stops, Schuster stops too.  It seems they both might enjoy the chase.  I have seen Pinkie walk calmly into the kitchen, stop, gather herself and jump onto the kitchen stool, then onto the island, without bothering in the least that Schuster has also walked into the kitchen and stopped.  He never approaches her, really.  And she is not really afraid of him.

Another interesting aspect of this odd relationship is that even when Schuster is running to the kitchen door to be let out, if Pinkie is in her box on the island, Schuster will, stop in his dash to the door, bounce up and down on the floor below her, bark several times, then hurry on.  Pinkie, of course, without getting up, either peers over the side at him, or simply ignores him, more usually the case.  Both behaviors, I think, are instances of the mystery of being in the animal world, in my animal world, at least.

Behavior Modification CX

"Doggie Days and Doggie Nights," the on-going comic saga of Frollie and Simon, each competing for the warm, treasured place in the big-dad chair next to their beloved master in the living of our old house.

Speaking of comic, that reminded me of our trip to the movie several days ago.  There was, fortunately, only one other couple in this theater, sitting in the first row.  Mary was alone in the middle of the third row, though I must say I was a bit miffed that she didn't wave to let me know she was there.   

Having picked her out in the dark, I struggled up the theater stairs, really.  I made my way down the row of empty seats, inched my way past my still-seated wife, and began to shed my rather bulky weighty coat.  I was about half in and half out (of the coat) when I reached down to the theater seat to steady myself, balance not being one of my old age skill sets!  I touched the seat, half in and half out; much to my surprise the damn seat moved!  I moved as well, facing the back of the theater, and slow-motion sliding over the arm rest, twisting my body clock-wise to turn myself around with as much agility as I could muster at the point, only to drop unceremoniously into the theater seat next to the one I was aiming for.  My momentary loss of dignity not withstanding, I plopped uninjured, half in and half out of both seats, with one leg draped over the offending arm rest, the other solidly on the floor!  I hauled the draped leg into the aimed-for seat and waited calmly for the beginning of the movie, St. Vincent!

The movie theater, "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly."   The "Good" regarding the movie theater is its sublime presence near at hand.  The building is good, with its many interior theaters for showing movies, 3D and/or digital, its comfortable seating with almost no danger of being impeded in your viewing, the almost always clean rest room, and of course the concession stand.  What would the movie experience be without tasty, slightly buttery and salty popcorn?

The "Bad" part of the movie experience in a crowded theater is the cell phone!  "They" warn you to turn them off and sheathe them, and still people will haul them out, flip them open, blinding all their neighbors, checking whatever it is they check, and then close them.  I had a woman in front of me a while ago now, who would not put the offending machine away.  I warned her I would get an usher!  She told me to go ahead.  I went ahead and brought him back, and took no great pleasure in pointing out to him the offending beast, her demonic device and her embarrassed daughter.  He threatened her with expulsion.  She muttered something under her breath but put it away!

The "Ugly" aspect of the movie experience, I am somewhat ashamed to say,  is me eating popcorn.  Consider: I love movie popcorn.  Mary divides her enormous medium bag of popcorn with me, giving me about a third.  Consider that my hands have lost the sense of touch, mostly.  What follows then is an engineering problem of how to get the tasty popcorn from the paper bag to my open mouth.  The solution is not a pretty sight.  In fact it is "ugly!"  I put my hand in the bag, grab whatever I can find there, and cram it in my mouth.  In can tell when I have achieved popcorn since taste is still working, but on the way to my mouth, some of the popcorn falls on my shirt, some falls into my shirt, some falls on the floor, and some just disappears into the dark.  Me eating popcorn is not a pretty sight.  It is, in fact, ugly!  

Frollie and Simon?  Perhaps tomorrow. 

The picture?  The Three Amigos, the movie-going buddies: Martie, Mary, and Me.  That sounds like a title for a stage play: "Martie, Mary, and Me."  For many years the three of us achieved fifty movies a year, truly, I keep records, but then, alas, one of us retired and moved away, and all of us are saddened.

Behavior Modification CIX

A dog's mind is a world of mystery.  Lately, Frollie has decided that she too will sit with me, taking over Simon's place.  Oh dear.  One cause for this dilemma is that if I am not sitting there, Simon goes for the sofa and the blanket.  When he does that Frollie goes for the chair.  If she is there when I sit down, she of course stays, sitting stretched out beside me just like Simon.

I love Frollie too, and I don't want to hurt her feelings either.  (I can't believe I just said that; Frollie has created an emotional dilemma for us.). Once I encouraged her to get down, she knew why, and would not look at me the rest of the evening, or come back, even though I called her.  

One night Simon and I were settled in when Frollie came over and started moving around as though she wanted to jump up with us.  The only possibility was the arm of the chair, but she is too big and there is no way to it.  I have learned that I can hurt her feelings, whatever that might mean in the real world, and that is something I would avoid at all costs, if I could. 

On the other side of the chair, to speak metaphorically for a moment, we were watching a dog special segment on the evening news, which Frollie enjoys watching too.  She barks at the dogs.  Simon and Dexter seem to have no idea that anything out of the ordinary is happening.  Schuster, however, hero-worships both Frollie and Dexter, also watches TV and he joined Frollie in the barking and dancing.  Frollie turned around and delivered what sounded like a vicious blow.  Schuster was on the floor, screaming, really, with feet waving wildly in the air.  We disciplined Frollie though we couldn't see that she had hurt him.  Still, from the human perspective, I felt sorry for Schuster, who just wanted to join in the fun with his buddy, apparently.  What went on in his mind, I have no idea.  He certainly recovered quickly, helped by Frollie's incessant grooming of his face.  I'm glad people do not have to make up that way, though we might be better off if we did.

For the hero and ardent disciple aspect of the Frollie/Schuster relationship, on the last walk, Frollie who was off lead crossed Silver Creek; Schuster who has a long lead followed into the water.  Frollie has long, Jack Russell legs; Schuster has very short dachshund legs.  He was up to his ears in the water in seconds, but swimming valiantly after her.  He is an excellent swimmer, not in the least afraid of the water; fortunately, Frollie decided (who knows why really) to return to our side, and Schuster did a wonderful wide turn around and followed her back.  All you can see is his head above water and not a bit of panic in his eyes.

At home Schuster always defers to Frollie.  The three "original" dogs will be lined up in front of me, waiting for a treat.  Schuster will hang back, apparently not anxious to awaken Frollie's wrath.  And yet, when I fix their suppers, I heat the Alpo I stir into the dry food on a paper plate.  Once I have divided the Alpo, I hold the plate down for Frollie and Schuster to lick clean.  Frollie pushes across the plate to start on Schuster's side in order to get more, but Schuster pushes in too and licks away as well.  Frollie tolerates his presence, perhaps because she knows I will intervene if she growls, but who knows?  They clean the plate together.

When mealtime actually arrives, usually not quickly enough for Schuster, all four dogs behave surprisingly well.  I line the four bowls up on the kitchen counter: Schuster's first, then Dexter's, Frollie's, and finally Simon's.  With dog food I am of course a gourmet cook.  I begin with a tasty base, an expensive Purina dry food, Purina's ONE "healthy weight formula," whose #1 ingredient, the bag assures me, is "real turkey"!  Yum!  Next, depending on the ambiance, I either add 29 little square morsels of Purina's "Moist an Meaty" to each bowl (of course I count them!) or go right to the Purina Alpo.  Tonight I skipped the M & M and went to the Alpo, especially since Schuster was bouncing off my leg in eager anticipation of his food.  The other three dogs control themselves with remarkable patience.

I heat the "Chop House," "cooked in savory juices," "Filet Mignon Flavor[ed]" Alpo in the microwave on the afore-mentioned paper plate; then I divide the heated Alpo into each bowl, sometimes while singing an aria from The Marriage of Figaro or La Traviata to entertain them while they wait.  Precisely.  Once carefully and properly divided, I stir, first, Schuster's bowl of food and begin the proper placement on the floor around me.  Each has a special place on the floor, but all three are close together in the kitchen.  Schuster first, Dexter second, Frollie third.  All three are perfectly well-mannered, no one inter fears with his or her neighbor.

Simon, however, is a special case.  He stays on the sofa under his blanket until I bring his bowl of food into the living room and put it on the floor in front of my chair.  I have no idea how that custom arose but it did and no one seems to mind.  Once everyone is finished eating, and licking his or her neighbor's empty bowl, they make a high-powered run to the kitchen door and out into the night or evening or whatever.  Thus we have the daily doggie eating frenzy, chaos controlled, mischief managed.

While they are all out, I hasten to pick up Frollie's and Dexter's bowls lest Simon find them and try to drive them enthusiastically around the kitchen floor.  Very enthusiastically, noisily even.  Behavior modification; I learn from experience.  Sometimes!

Frollie definitely believes she is the Alpha dog, but neither Simon nor Dexter pay much attention to that, and she never tries to muscle them about.  After all, she has Schuster. 

Perhaps the most interesting element in the situation is the way the human social world relates to the dog social world.  As with humans, dogs have their own social context and behavior patterns, one that becomes precarious and fraught with danger and risk if we do not understand our dogs' behavior when we are out walking and suddenly meet other dogs.  

A quick example: Simon always seems aggressive when he encounters other dogs, barking and pulling on the lead, yet really, all he ever seems to want to do is go nose to nose with the new dog, and of course, then stick his nose up the new dog's butt.  Is that, I wonder, scents and scent ability?  

Sorry.  Time to lay down the stylus! 

Behavior Modification CVIII

Well, it is a.m. 3:30.  I have loaded the coffee maker and cleaned the kitchen, which includes washing all the day's dishes, finding where my wife has hidden the dirty griddle (it was, of course, in the closed oven), washing it, and then cleaning the "island" in the kitchen where our fat Garfield-like cat spends most of her waking hours, swatting us when we walk by, at least when she can bestir herself enough.  Actually, as far as I can tell and who knows what goes on in a fat cat's mind, she will settle for a few moments of gentle petting.  Hmm, once again, the incredible richness of being at our finger tips, a fat black cat named Pinkie, who washed up on an island in the middle of our kitchen.

We put her in the downstairs laundry room for however much of the "night" is left when we finally retire, which leaves the island free to be cleaned.  As I was cleaning it tonight, I saw a small black creature scurry across the floor and under the cabinet rim.  Rats! I said to myself.  A mouse!  Fortunately it wasn't, on closer inspection, just a long black tube of cat hair.  The incredible richness of being even in our kitchen!

And I haven't even gotten to my notes for today.  Ah, here we go.  It was around 2 p.m.; I was sitting in the dining room at our, guess what, dining room table which seconds as a workplace for me.  I was just about to finish the day's Cryptoquip, having already done the day's Jumble.  Those two daily puzzles are part of our daily routine; we love to do them.  I am better at the Crypto than Mary is, she is, in turn, much better at the Jumble than I am.  Each of our two daily papers contains a Jumble, but only one paper contains the Crypto.  Since I tend to get to it first, I copy it for her.  That may help account for our 48 years together.

In any case I was finishing the Crypto, feeling the usual satisfaction of having another well-solved puzzle under my belt, so to speak.  While I was working, Mary was sleeping, directly behind me in the living room, and snoring.  Sorry to say but she snores.  In fact she had been snoring for such a long time that I discovered, when I had finished the Crypto, that I too was sleepy.  Very sleepy in fact.  With the sofa occupied, I immediately thought of our bed with its very comfortable, 4,000 dollar tempur pedic mattress.  Who on earth would pay 4,000 dollars for a mattress?  Well, yes.  Here we are, and it is worth it, and before you could say Schuster three times I was stretched out there.

Oh yes.  Did I mention we were going to a movie in Richmond at 4:30?  We were, and I had time for a nap!  Okay.  On the bed at 2. Just about to drop off to sleep at 2:14 when I heard a sound-barrier breaking bark!  Simon was in the room! 

I stiffly, slowly slid off the bed on to my knees beside the bed where little Simon was impatiently wagging his tail and watching me.  He knows the routine: he puts his front paws on the side of the bed so that I can get one hand under his chest, the other hand on his butt, and pull him to my chest and up.  The bed is very high, compared to our old bed. My movements are somewhat precarious, given my disabilities, but we made it.  I was on my back again, Simon was tucked neatly under my right arm, it was 2: 23.  We were out.

I have written it before, but I absolutely love napping with Simon tucked under my arm.  He doesn't move; I don't move.  We are warm and comfortable.  When I glanced at the clock, the red numbers said 3:38.  Simon and I had achieved something that does not happen at all for a number of reasons, none of which I feel like explaining, beyond the fact that I (we) have 3 more dogs (one a lively youngster), an island-hugging cat, a wife, a phone, a few friends, neighbors, etc.  End of entry.

However, we had decided to go to the movie, St. Vincent, in Richmond, at 4:30, and it was raining heavily from time to time.  First I had to get Simon off the bed.  It is not good for dachshunds to jump from high places, though try to tell them that!  So, I swung my legs over the side of the gorgeous mattress, put my right arm around Simon and carefully set him on the floor where, by this time, he was met by an extremely excited Schuster.  They ran to the front room. 

First real dog problem of the day:  Simon does not like to go out into the rain.  Simon will not go outside into the rain.  Open the door to the backyard, he steps back, deeper into the kitchen.  Push him out, he will run to the end of the deck, turn around and run back.  "Done Dad!"  Of course his back is dry.  By this time, 3:56, he was on the sofa, partially concealed by his blanket.  I did not mess around.  All the other dogs were out.  Simon was going out too.  "Not gonna happen, Dad!  I don't do rain!"  

I calmly walked to his sofa, tossed back the blanket, picked him up and tucked him under my right arm, for the second time that day.  I got the kitchen door open safely, I saw that the stairs to the left of the deck were wet and slippery.  Oh my goodness.  I have broken a big toe once there and fallen twice, unpleasantly.  Holding him tightly with one hand and arm, I crossed to the wet railing, and slowly stepped down, one step, two step, three steps down!   

There is a broad over-hang across the back of the house.  For the second time that afternoon, I gently and safely set the little guy on the ground, under the over-hang.  He didn't even give me a dirty look.  I discovered that the reason for that was that he was truly loaded.  He walked along the back of the house for about 8 feet, and pooped, a real bunker buster pile of it!  He went on for another 3 or 4 feet, pushed his way into a low-flying shrub, tilted his long male body to the left, and held the position for a good 40 seconds, matching any record of mine.   

Though the rain was still falling and I was still happily standing in the rain (he pooped!), I waited until he left the side of our house and ran down the board walk to me through the rain.  When he got to me, he looked up, and if such a thing were possible, I would swear he was smiling!  

I haven't said it lately, but I really love the little guy, even when he hops down off the sofa, calmly walks over to the piano leg, and, because it is raining and he remembers that it is raining, he pees! I cannot fully trust the little beastie, but I can and certainly do fully love him, little Simon!  

Everyone stay well.

Behavior Modification CVII (probably)

What a tremendously exciting universe we live in!  I just took some of the evening's trash down to the curb (pickup is later this morning), and when I got out from under the three large trees in our front yard, two maples and a magnificent oak, I looked up and saw Orion spread out above me in the east-south-east in a beautiful, clear night sky.  In the west the moon shone silvery white and truly lit up the neighborhood.  In that moment it was very very good to be alive.

Once I had dealt with the trash and recyclables, I walked away from the house down the street toward the cul-de-sac where there are no trees and the sky is open.  I could add the constellations Sirius and Gemini to the stars I could see, and behind me the moon.  I love the stars, I love astronomy.   

I bought the Great Courses astronomy course with 99 half hour lectures.  I got stalled in the 40s, but the teacher is good, though I cannot remember his name at the moment.  Maybe it is Neil deGrasse Tyson.

As I was looking at Orion, spread out perfectly above me, I started thinking about change, for the constellation is as apparently the same this morning as it was when I discovered it as a child sixty or more years ago.  Mary and I came to Berea in 1967.  In 68 or 69 we bought a wonderful plot of land in a newly created, half finished subdivision.  There were 16 lots; 7 had houses. The ones that didn't were wild fields, no trees of any kind.  We bought the #3 lot, then we used the lot as collateral once it was paid off in order to build the house.  We planted the trees, the maples, the oak, white pines in the back, a majestic silver maple, a fast growing tree that now towers over the backyard. I love trees (think of Tolkien's Ents!), but the only thing I regret is that when they grew, they obscured the stars.  I used to be able to follow the sun's south-north north-south movement each year by where the sun came up over the ridge 3 miles to the east.  I knew exactly how far south it would go in the winter, how far north in the summer as it travelled the ecliptic through the zodiac.

Meanwhile, as the land changed radically here, in the heavens there was no perceptible change in Orion, Sirius, or Gemini.  Shakespeare knew the two realm universe, the trans-lunar realm of permanence, an image of Heaven, and the sub-lunar realm of change, life and death, growth and decay.   Dante's Divine Comedy perfectly describes the ancient / medieval two realm view.  To understand how our ancestors saw the universe, I recommend C. S. Lewis's The Discarded Image.  Change, mutability, and permanence: while we may understand the physical universe better than they did, we lost a great deal ontologically when we discarded the old view in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and our imaginations are the poorer for it.  We threw out the image of permanence, and now find ourselves lost in an unimaginable vastness that is essentially a closed system, a small box measured in light years, where there is no exit, only death.

I love the medieval / renaissance literature, especially Dante, Shakespeare, Spenser, and I know what they saw and felt, what they experienced when they looked up at the heavens.  The images permeate their works.  Tonight I felt it again when I looked up and was surprised by the magnificence and majesty of Orion.  Just because we have walked on the moon (that too is exciting and not to be down played!) does not mean that the moon loses its value as an image of beauty, peace, tranquility.  Actually, even with all our scientific knowledge (we have a vehicle on Mars, moving and sending us pictures!  How can we not be stirred by that achievement?), Dante's and Shakespeare's grasp of the real value of the universe we inhabit is imaginably greater than our own, for we do not even understand the significance of the discoveries we have made, and we do not bother to read Dante and Shakespeare any more, unless someone forces us!  Alas!

To see for a moment the imaginative value of our scientific vision, consider what mathematics mean really, and consider the precision involved in getting a space craft into orbit around a planet that far from us, and then landing it on that planet.  Just what does precise really mean?  What about microscopic?  What about our understanding, with our imaginations, of the meaning of cold and hot. Ice? Absolute zero?  A candle flame?  The heat of the surface of the sun, 10, 000 degrees?  These numbers are not simply scientific facts, data, they are also possibilities for the imagination.  Space?  You want to experience space as an image?  Try to imagine what a  trip to Mars might mean (900 days for a round trip, apparently).  Loneliness?  Imagine what being there alone might mean (Mars is 35 million miles at its closest; imagine being that far from home!). If that thought does not send a chill down your spine nothing ever will.

The universe is charged with meaning, with possibility, if only one were willing to awaken to the surrounding richness of being.  

Behavior Modification CVI

I should start with the major creature event of the past two days, the four dog walk.  Such excitement there was once they figured out that we were indeed going this time. The major problem for the humans involved was that we were short of time.  The sunlight was running out on us and we had a supper engagement in the not-too-distant future.  

The dogs' usual excitement overwhelmed them.  Since they had not been out for a while, that gave me pause (not really a pun), but we were late.  All four dashed for the stairs and down, doing the dogs' version of yelling.  Dexter is the worst.  Imagine a large beagle beside himself with excitement.  Mary threatened to kill him; I would have given her a weapon. 

In any case they were down, while I was coming through the living room to get to the stairs.  I looked down (well, I always look down; that's what neuropathy and arthritis  does to one, takes your head and forces it down, among other things, and numbs and pains your feet!).  There before me was a fresh pee stain.  Schuster the Excited had left his mark, spelled out his name on the rug!  I yelled, Mary grabbed paper towels and the bottle of Resolve, blotted the mess, sprayed it, and put the bottle on top of the towels on the floor. We were later.

We hurried down stairs, into the garage.  I was about to say, shouldn't we make sure the little monster doesn't poop in the car again?  Then, I said it!   She said, "We're late.  He'll be all right!"  Where that unbridled optimism came from I have no idea, unless she had already noticed the garage floor beside the rear tire, passenger side, where there glistened a rather large pile of dog poo.  Schuster, or Simon.  Simon or Schuster?  Simon was acting mighty strange.  In any case I got the downstairs towels, the downstairs bottle of Febreze, rolled up my sleeves and dealt with it.  By this time all four beasts were in the car, I armed Vivint, the perimeter defense system, got in the car, and we pulled out, already exhausted, but going for a walk with the guys!

I don't understand why "going for a walk" always reminds me of Milton's Pandemonium, Pope's "dread chaos and eternal night.," and Shakespeare's Scotland (Macbeth).  Ah the uses of a literary education!

The walk was pretty much uneventful.  Since pain and disease force me to look down when tromp down the blacktop trail, and since Simon is always in the lead, except when he is not, I am always watching where my feet are going as well as watching Simon walk.  I have noticed a kind of mathematical symmetry in his movement, especially with his hind legs.  The front legs and back legs seem to be independent of one another.  It is probably not true, yet there he goes, like Paul Bunyan's dog who was accidentally cut in two with an ax and sewn back together upside down, so that he could use either pair of legs for walking just by turning himself over.  Still, Simon's legs seem to move independently of each other, and with a beautiful mathematical symmetry, at least when he hasn't stopped to eat something or pee on something he can't eat!

Which reminds me, he will eat the God-awfullest things out there.  The walk before this one I caught him trying to gulp down a glob of decayed vegetation and dark matter that would have choked a moose.  He sees me out of the corner of his eye and tries to toss it back before I can pull him away!  Disgusting little beast!  No wonder his breath is foul, and I let him eat off my fork!  Well, just goes to show you how seriously you should take all that I write.  

That seems like a good place to stop for a while, since supper is ready, and I am being summoned, by She-who-must-be-obeyed! 

Behavior Modification CV(I think)

"Notes on the Creatures," or, as when I was in graduate school taking a weekend break from studying and writing papers, "Creature Features." A local TV channel in Athens, Ohio used to show two horror films after the late news on Friday night and two on Saturday night.  Frequently we would gather and indulge ourselves at my small apartment.  My parents had given me a small TV for Christmas my second year in school.  They were very good parents!

Creature Features it is.  Early this morning as I was making my way to the bedroom (5 a.m.), I received a pleasant, somewhat shockingj surprise.  Skittish little Schuster was lying on the bed, stretched out next to Mary.  Another little Schuster first.  He had never slept with us before, yet there he was, eyes open and watching me.  I reached across the bed to pet him, and he immediately rolled a little to one side so I could reach his belly for a belly rub.  The little monster does not miss a trick.  Of course I gave him a middle-of-the-morning belly rub.  He stayed on the bed while I brushed my teeth, etc. and was still there when I came back.  He stayed there while I turned the covers back and struggled my way onto the mattress; once in the bed I reached over, patted his butt twice and passed out.  It was 5:43 a.m.  She, my wife, and he, little Schuster, were gone when I awoke for the first time around 8:33 a.m.  

I would tell you about Simon's midnight behavior, but Simon simply buries himself on the living room sofa under a blanket and sleeps soundly through the night, though when I approach to say good night, he too will make his tummy available for a belly rub.   Who could refuse a little dachshund's late night request?  Obviously not me.

Only one dog out of the pack is not afraid of a closed door.   The master bedroom door sticks once it is fully closed.  I have to push hard to open it.  Frollie won't even enter that room through a slightly ajar door where all she would have to do was nudge it a bit.  Dexter won't come anywhere near the master bath or the door, open or closed.  My little buddy Simon likes to come in with me, but he too will not push a closed door open.  He will scratch it, he will moan and whine outside it, but he will not push it.

You know who is left.  I was taking a shower this afternoon, getting ready for, ahem, my hair appointment.  The door was closed to keep the ambient warmth and steam in the room.  I was soaping away when I heard this loud ripping, tearing sound.  I looked around the shower curtain and saw Schuster's red head looking through the open door, up at me.   Had I not been looking down at him, he probably would have grabbed a slipper and run (or ran).  As it was he simply backed out leaving the door open.  So much for steam and warmth.  The little guy is fearless.  Apparently.

Behavior Modification CIV

Today, well, yesterday now, Sunday, we took the dogs for a long walk on the Stephenson Memorial Trail.  As I have mentioned before, they get so excited that strange behavior is likely to ensue.  Today I laughed most of the way from the house to the trail for Schuster, who else, started with a high-pitched aria that he developed and maintained from the four-way stop to the parking lot.  There is no way to describe it, but it is funny.  None of the other three can imitate it, though Simon tried for a bit, then gave up and barked at someone walking on the sidewalk.  

Since it is probably two city blocks from our house to the trail, we could easily walk it, and I frequently, in better days, have done so.  With four dogs, however, all four would constantly need to be on leads.  Off lead at the sight of the first squirrel they would be gone.  Then there is the waste removal aspect.  What one might leave in the semi-wilderness, one may not leave in someone's front yard.  At least one should not.  We have taken all four on a city walk before and cleaning up after a large beagle is not an easy task, especially when one uses a cane and has a dachshund to control.  Simon is good about waiting for these pauses, since he has caused enough of them when we travel alone.  Still, even when one has picked it up, there is still the matter of carrying the matter.  So, we ride two city blocks to the parking lot, and we ride two city blocks back, a much quieter ride, though Simon tends even then to bark at people on the sidewalk, people riding bicycles, other dogs, moving machines of any make and model, and so on.  Of the four, Schuster is the most entertaining of the passengers, Simon, who sits on my lap going and coming, is potentially the most annoying, though I do get to kiss his head from time to time.

Schuster and Dexter ride in the back, Simon in front, and Frollie in the middle between the front and back.  Usually she loses her balance at least once on the way down and twice on the way back, for Mary has a sharp turning technique.  When Frollie slips she goes belly down on the plastic thingamajig that separates the two front seats.  Her attempt at recovery is excruciating to watch, since she is flat on the divider scrambling for a foot-hold on a substance not meant to be stood on.   (I know, I know.  I am a rule-breaker too; I live on the edge).  Her legs go every which way, and the moans and grunts she utters are heart-rendering.  Nevertheless, she insists on riding there where she can see whatever my wife is about to hit.

Ah well, the pain in my neck is excruciating and I need to quit.  But one more thing.  At 7:37 p.m. last night now, the space station glided silently from north west to east south east over our world and was visible for 6 glorious minutes.  Brighter than any star it moves across our sky.  I had left Simon home but took his lead, the one for night which has two front lights and a red tail light.  Since Mary was coming too, I decided to lie on my back in our neighbor's driveway to get a clear view of the entire sky.  Mary was necessary to help me get up, and even then it was a close call.  Frollie would have laughed to see me, cane in one hand, Mary on the other side and me floundering in the middle.  As in "Pickles" today, Sunday, had anyone come by before Mary got there, he or she might have called for an ambulance.  But the sky was clear and the space station glided over us, giving us a spectacular view.  I wonder what there will be to see in a thousand years, if anything.  After all, by the end of this century, we may have a colony on Mars, as exciting and scary a thought as that might be.  

I like C. S. Lewis's idea that space is God's quarantine.  The monsters are not "out there"; all the monsters in the universe are right here, and space is God's way of making certain we do not threaten or terrorize or destroy whatever is out there.  That said, I cannot wait to see "Interstellar," November 7, I think.   I love fantasy and science fiction.

Behavior Modification CI

I was startled to discover a document was available to me this morning, though I have forgotten all the incidents I wanted to record, since swiftly moving time has carried me away from them. 

The principle for describing incidents I learned from Emily Dickinson: tell the truth, but tell it slant.  Slant is so much more interesting, usually.  (It just occurred to me that I have no idea how to save this document.  I shall not write much more since all the words may disappear.)

If my one gentle reader is still with me, she ought to know that my son, Michael, is responsible for upgrading and improving the website.  He is BlogMaster Startzman, and I am grateful that we are back up and running (er, walking? Stumbling slowly forward till Death does me depart, as the old marriage vows used to say). 

Well, well.  I closed the document by hitting "done," whereupon I was given several choices, one of which was to save the draft, which I did.  I saw that there was a choice to "publish," as well.  I like that!  Publish! 

But I haven't mentioned the family yet.  Little Schuster, for example, the most annoying, wonderful, terminally cute little creature that ever was.  When he is Snoopy-like perched on the top of the love seat (see picture), I can walk up to him, pet him, give him a belly rub, scratch his ears, etc.; however, when he is on the floor, he will not let me pick him up, or let anyone.  That is frustrating.  

I have taught him to do nose bumps though.  When I go downstairs to retrieve papers or Ocean Spray cran-grape juice, which we drink a lot of, he will put his head through the railing and touch my nose with his nose when I say, "nose bump."  That is so cute, though I seem to be the only person who appreciates it; but after all, he doesn't have a fist!  Nose bump!

Okay, going to see if choices return, and if publish means publish.  Given that I am talking about Schuster of Simon and Schuster, publish seems appropriate here. 

Behavior Modification C

This is the first time I've been able to open the website in a while since I had to delete my app.  That is a sentence I would never have imagined writing ever before in my short and complicated life with four dogs.  I guess I'll keep going while I can.

Two days ago we were getting ready to take the dogs for a walk.  All four get hysterical when they discover that is about to happen, and they seem to know almost before we do.  They bark, they run down the stairs, then they run back up the stairs.  Dexter the beagle is the worst, but they are all at that fever pitch, so called.  

Mary is responsible for Frollie, Dexter, and Schuster; I am responsible for Simon.  The two dachshunds have to be kept on leads, as they are like Pooh, dogs of very little brain.  In any case we were getting ready to drive down to the walking trail, the John B. Stephenson Memorial Trail.  We had all four loaded into the car and were about to get in ourselves when we smelled it: someone had pooped in the car.  Since Simon sits in the front with me, he was out.  It was not Simon.  Since Dexter and Frollie are mature, fairly sensible creatures we could rule them out. That left Shuster the Booster!  Mary was so angry!  Since she was almost hoarse from screaming at them to quiet down in the house, at this point she could only croak her intense anger, but croak she did, as she fetched the stuff to clean it up.  Schuster's name was uttered a number of times, and he was threatened with various forms of annihilation that involved removing various body parts in a select order.  Shuster of course simply looked mystified, and seemed to wonder why we weren't going.  And he stepped in it only once or twice.