The rest of the story - part 3

Now you all are probably wondering did “Ivan the Terrible” emerge at the age of 7 months (in people years I think that is around 4). The short answer is no! He never fell from “puppy grace”.

Before I go any farther I want to add a couple of things to the previous months. One is that the dog is innately polite – I don’t know how, but he got a good roll on this count. First thing in the morning he is all wags and licks and “scratch me, rub me, more – more – more”! As soon as I say, “Time to feed the kitties” (yes, there are 2 now) he either goes out into the other room or sits in a corner of the kitchen – we didn’t teach him that and we continue to marvel at it. Now, the moment he hears the food hit the bowl he’s back and will lie at your feet until his meal is fixed; which is rather elaborate (see “Buffle-brunch” post). More accurately, lie on your feet, especially now that he doesn’t just lie on the rug – he is the rug! When he wants your undivided attention he will literally sit on your feet and believe me, you are captured!

The second thing is his respect for boundaries, whether explicit or implied. I began taking him to work a couple of days a week from the beginning. I thought I was going to have to put up baby gates and such so I wouldn’t have to close my office door. As it turns out a couple of boxes or trash baskets would keep him in, regardless of what was happening outside the office. I thought that would all go away as he got bigger, but the implied boundaries work still and we don’t have to go to great extremes to keep him where we want him to be. He won’t walk over either of the cats, he’ll wait until they move or find another way around.

Ok! Seven months. We had been warned about several things “Berner” and the validity of those claims was becoming increasingly apparent as Taylor began to grow. Berner fur happens – it does and all the time. Even with pretty constant brushing and the occasional bath, it is still a very pervasive element in the house. The other and perhaps more destructive element is the “POWER TAIL”! These guys seem to have turbos on their tails and can clear a coffee table in one swoop. Not only do they wag their tails, but these guys are like articulated busses with the whole butt wagging with the tail. The Buffledog has taken out plant stands, musical instruments, coffee table items, Christmas decorations, CATS, smaller dogs and unsuspecting blue-haired ladies. The Buffledog’s salvation with all of this unintentional destructive energy is that the same energy is present when you return to his space, even if you’ve only been gone for a few minutes – it’s just too wonderful to be greeted with that happy cadence that only a dog tail can produce and our guy to the tenth power!

I also began to notice at seven months that the Buffle-pooch was running about with wild puppy abandon less and less. He began to sit down in the middle of a walk, smile on his face with his tongue hanging out and I thought he was just being a little stubborn. The males, we were warned, will sometimes engage in little power struggles. Ok, we can get through this and decided to skip the puppy class and bring a trainer in for a little one on one. It was an insightful session and the trainer was wonderful. He did say that this wasn’t an adolescent power struggle, but he couldn’t put his finger on what the problem might be. He went to the truck and brought out his Swissy girl (a short haired and similarly marked relative of the Bernese) to check his demeanor and interaction with other dogs. This was a wild child and Taylor would give chase and then give it up, sit down and just smile. After twenty minutes of this he put his girl back up and did some one on one with the Bookie-boy. Taylor was tired and was struggling to get up from a “down” position. He also began to limp a bit and the trainer began to palpate his elbows. He said that he didn’t know what was wrong, but something was and we should get him to a vet for an exam.

WHAT?! There is something wrong with this beautiful dog – my Buffledog? He said not to worry, that it might only be panosteitis or "pano." It is also called growing pains. I spent most of the night researching this on the web and every time I would breathe a sigh of relief I would have a corresponding panic attack. By the time I finally fell asleep, I had associated his symptoms with a myriad of vile and nefarious diseases. How could there be something wrong with this dog – we did everything right, didn’t we? Frantic calls to the vet the next morning and to the breeder as well. How could this be happening? He seemed fine on his walk this morning.

The vet spent an inordinate amount of time with Taylor, observing how he climbed stairs, palpating all of his joints, etc., etc. She couldn’t come to a reasonable conclusion, but suggested that when we brought him in for his “unkind cut” that she would do a series of x-rays while he was sedated.

The x-rays were done and the Boy was less of a boy. :( The film was sent to the radiologist for an interpretation and the report came back that he suspected elbow dysplasia, probably bi-lateral. We were devastated and had read just enough to be sufficiently frightened. I wasted no time in setting an appointment with the surgical team that the vet recommended. They also spent lots of time in examination and came to a similar, though more specific, diagnosis – a possible ununited Anconeal Process, possibly a fractured or ununited Medial Coronoid Process and suspicion of a joint incongruence. FUCK!

“What did we do wrong?” we asked.

“Nothing” he said. "This sometimes happens to large dogs."

“What now?”

“Let’s wait and see how this progresses and if needed we can do arthroscopic surgery.”

Jeeze Louise Buffledog? What are we going to do now???

The worst news was that this surgery was reported to be only moderately successful - particularly on elbows. Damn! We started restricting his diet to keep him from gaining weight too fast. I spent endless hours on the phone with the breeder. I read everything I could read on the subject and there still were no good answers. The Buffle-pooch was getting as much Ascription as he could safely have and we began to see good days and bad days. He was also getting the full compliment of orthopedic supplements. The worst was when he would get up from an extended rest and honestly it was painful to watch. He was walking like a Sumo wrestler and we were freaking out! It seems our boy had pulled the Queen of Spades in the genetic gene pool game.

He never complained, he always smiled, he always had the “turbo tail” and we were determined to just “love him through this”! There had to be an answer!

The rest of the story - part 2

The breeder had previously deemed the Bufflepup as the one for our household based on the conversations and e-mail that passed previous to my arrival. She had also mentioned that “my” puppy was not shy, but simply stood aside and observed the activity before diving into the foray. Even she was surprised that he was being so content, allowing me to just hold him despite all the activity surrounding us and it was clear that this was the right choice.

I was on a very tight schedule and hadn’t eaten a proper meal since I left Dayton, Ohio very early that morning and it was pushing 8 pm. We herded the sea of fur back to their kennel and I said goodbye to the Bufflepup knowing it would be another week before he was old enough to fly to Seattle.

Finally food and I realized that much of the jitters I was experiencing was probably a major blood sugar crash. I was glad for the approaching calm as the breeder and I shared a lot of personal information, getting more comfortable with each other and I knew that this was the right breeder to have chosen. She also acknowledged that the Bufflepup was going to a fine home. It was a test that we had both passed with flying colors; however, in retrospect, I have to admit being a nervous wreck and I was too committed to have something go wrong at this point.

Six days later, on February 13th, the Bufflepup boarded an Alaska Airlines flight bound for Seattle. Two hours later he arrived at the freight terminal with an entourage of terminal employees wanting to see the boy outside of his kennel. It was all very exciting and he was very glad to PEE! I dropped Hot Sauce off at the office and after showing the boy off to the crowd there we went home to the relative quiet of the house…and the cat! One hiss and the puppy grokked the hierarchy of this household’s animal kingdom! T’was ever thus. He didn’t as much as blink an eye and after some initial exploration he decided he needed his rest after such an excruciating trip. He crawls up in my lap and there my bony butt was stuck to the hard floor for the next 2 ½ hours. Yes, it went to sleep. Yes, I had no feeling for a while afterwards. That was “the” bonding experience for us that day and there’s been no looking back. Hot Sauce had her bonding experience that night and by the time we got to the vet the next day for a check-up she remarked at how bonded we seemed to be – “no question as to the bond here” I believe she said.

I should share with you that the Buffledog’s given name is “Taylor”. His namesake was James Taylor and loosely derived from Taylor’s AKC name. He does have a lot of nicknames and fortunately he responds to them all.

If there was ever a nearly perfect puppy-hood this was it, and I say that with more surprise than pride. This was a case of “planning for the worst and hoping for the best” and the latter was certainly the case. One poop in the house and he was so embarrassed that it never happened again. He religiously hit the pee pads and the only pee that ever christened the linoleum floor was after he got bigger and so did the volume. He did freak himself out one day and after thinking the pee pad might be a “fun” toy and the result was akin to the lot surrounding a cotton gin. He was now in a terrible puppy dilemma and never was a dog so glad to see a human come through the door as this dog – he had to PEEEEEEE! That was the last shredding and it was soon after that he was deemed house broken.

There was only one flip-flop lost to puppy teeth and a couple of baseboard corners had fallen victim as well. His favorite all time “toy” was a plastic laundry basket and remained so until he began to chew through it. He occasionally will grab an empty basket today and you’d swear this dog was 4 months old again, prancing around the yard with the basket flipped over his head and shaking it for all it is worth. He is pretty easy on his toys for being such a large dog and two years later most of his toys are still intact.

His instinct to “herd” came on full force when we had a houseful of family. He was 6 months old and once he figured out that everyone there belonged there it became his sole responsibility to keep the crowd of 10 within eyesight. He would only settle down when he could see us all. The rest of the time was spent body-blocking in an attempt to redirect the offending herd member. He was especially sweet with the little ones and although he wasn’t sure “what they were” he was generally mindful of their activities and was especially distressed when someone cried.

Pretty much a picture perfect “puppy-hood”.

Then came 7 months…

The rest of the story - part 1

I really didn’t start this Blog to be all about the Buffledog, but I did say in the beginning that I would just let it find its own voice. Because he is such a pervasive part of my life he has taken center stage for now and that’s ok! He is polite enough to move over if I feel the need to write about more pressing matters like “Rummage Sales” or etherial street folk. Since he has taken center stage I feel compelled to fill you in on the Buffledog’s back-story.

The story begins 3 years ago and at the time I didn’t know a Bernese Mountain Dog from an aardvark. I was actually looking for a pound puppy and spent endless hours on Petfinder searching for the “right” dog. I found references over and over of dogs being part Bernese (or BMD) and the curious creature that I am sent me on a journey to learn about this breed. The more I read and discovered about the breed the more convinced I was that this was the correct choice for the household. Then what appeared to be a purebred Berner girl popped up at a shelter in southern California. I wasted no time in contacting the shelter, but I was a day late. This missed opportunity drove me deeper into all things BMD on the web as I was past convinced about the breed. I found myself contacting breeder after breeder as well as putting my name in the hat with any rescue organization for, or relating to BMDs.

Months went by and there were no puppies or dogs available. I found myself on a variety of waiting list for the “next litter” and was becoming increasingly frustrated. “What have I sold myself on?” I would ask. Then, working late into the evening waiting on some CAD drawing to regenerate I went surfing again and followed an obscure link to a breeder in Idaho. Truthfully I think I fell in lust with the breeder who happened to be pictured with some of her dogs. So I rolled around in this fairly bizarre state for a couple of days and decide to contact her, knowing that I was going to end up on yet another waiting list. To my utter and total surprise she responded with some hope; she had a new litter of 10 and only 7 were spoken for and “was I interested?” Lust aside, this was about a dog after all and I really had no business “there” anyway, I responded in the affirmative.

Pictures sent, a household resume returned (she, like other breeders, wasn’t going to send a puppy to an inappropriate household) and a fairly extensive grilling on the phone led to a plan to visit with the dogs soon. I was able to stop on a return from a business trip. By this time I had the 5 week picture that I posted several days ago and I knew that I was already lost to this dog.

I was literally shaking with anticipation waiting for the breeder to pick me up from that airport. We talked about all things Berner on the way to the house and she forewarned me that this was a rowdy crowd. I met several of the adult dogs on the way into the house and she was filling me in on all the stuff that I hadn’t read about.

With these preliminaries out of the way she ushered me into the kitchen and asked if I was ready for a “circus”. The kitchen was cordoned off with multiple baby-gates and I was invited to sit down on the linoleum floor and she would go get the pups. I was totally unprepared for what followed. She went into the garage where the kennel was for the puppies and opens the door. She came out with all of these little fur balls following her to the kitchen. There came this undulating sea of black and white and tan and then they were all over me – a new toy!!! I found myself covered, licked, nipped and chewed by an indescribable amount of cuteness. Even funnier was that I was doing this in my business clothes and was soon a fur ball my very own self – a total slobber blotter.

One of the little guys was being a bit reserved and it took a few moments for him to come over. He soon did and simply crawled up in my lap and licked me once on the face and settled into my lap – perfectly content. The rest of the litter was like popcorn popping and is was an amazing cacophony of puppy yips and squeals. The breeder was busy wiping up puppy puddles and was pointing out each pup and their temporary names. She then points to the boy in my lap and said, “…and that’s yours!”

…to be con’t.

Rummaging around the village

There is only ONE Nordic Track and it keeps showing up at every rummage sale that I've been to in recent years. Yes, just like the "One Fruit Cake" it keeps recirculating sale after sale after sale. I'm really not even sure how it magically gets from one sale to the next because it is always at the sale when you get there and when you leave. Nobody ever buys the damnable piece and yet there it is the very next weekend!

Oh! I know where it sleeps during the week - I do, honestly. It hangs at the Thrift Store right between the skis and the barbell sets - lurking! Maybe I should just drive a ski pole right through its evil wooden heart! Seamus the Nordic Slayer - just think of the fame and fortune, just think of a rummage sale without its nasty wooden skeleton looming in the corner. Just think!

Oh! Creepy bowling bags - what's with all of the creepy bowling bags? Has anyone ever gathered the guts to open one? They are always there, hanging around the evil Nordic Track - waiting patiently for the sucker who, despite all of their inner alarms sounding off, dares to unzip the demonic bag. Think about it!

There are other items that keep reappearing at these "recycle" events - they are at EVERY sale! Who the hell is going to buy this "stuff"? And where does it "go-o-o-o-o"?

Just think of how many of these have you spotted:

• Whirlpool Hot Spa - every bathroom needs one
• Samsonite hard case luggage (light blue)
• Packard Bell computers
• Rossignol skis (red)
• "The" Wilson tennis racquet
• Sunbeam Hair Dryer - deluxe salon model
• ...and the venerable Kenmore upright vacuum cleaner (light green)

...and books:
• Night Shift
• Shogun
• The Joy of Cooking
• The Joy of Sex
• The Joy of Children
• The Joy of Marriage
• Cooking for Dummies
• Sex for Dummies
• Children for Dummies
• Marriage for Dummies
• Ok, the "Dummies" books weren't there - BUT - they should be!
• Spanish Made Easy
• Good Fat Bad Fat
• Cooking Light
• Jaws
• Jaws 2
• The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
• How To Win Friends and Influence People
• Salad Magic
• Salad Magic 2
• The Power of Positive Thinking - it positively wants to stay there
• Cooking Made Easy for One - who the hell is gonna care?
• ...and on and on

What can be done to rid the world of these lingering spores of nightmarish dreams? So many battles launched - weekend after weekend of endless rummage carnage, yet has the evil been vanquished? Perhaps we should alert the White House of the terror beneath the bags - oh! That’s right, we wanted something to be done about it, not escalate it - bad plan (slaps hand)!

Warts and all!

In a case of terminal Saturday afternoon boredom I was doing a photo session with a vase (yes vase and not vamp - that would have terminated the boredom!) The above came into my viewscreen - I was going for something else entirely, but there was something here that captured my attention and was not to be denied.

The subject piece is a fairly prosaic vase picked up at a rummage sale but I've enjoyed playing with this piece - different angles, macro, more macro, etc., etc (macro in photo jargon refers to close focus - I believe that it should more accurately be called micro - IMHO) The above is actually a flaw in the glass, a bubble that is barely 1/8" long - smaller than a grain of rice! This isn't the real subject of this blog, but it was certainly the catalyst.

It made me think about family, friends and acquaintances. It made me think about relationships in particular and how in the beginning of a relationship we see things from 30,000 feet and often times not even sure of what the attraction is to begin with - not that there isn't one, but it is difficult to define. Time passes and it seems to be that the flaws that were overlooked are then becoming apparent and perhaps our real challenge is to find a way to view the flaws differently, not as annoyances, but as those defining attributes that make us all unique.

I'll be the first to admit that there are some flaws that create such a toxic relationship that, for the sake of safety and sanity, need to be "file thirteened". I've certainly had my share, but there have been some that have been salvaged and have proven to well worth the effort. There is nothing in particular in my life now that has prompted these thoughts other than following several Blogs that have delved into the very matter. They did make me think that there is not only beauty among the thorns, but perhaps there is beauty in the thorn itself.

HAPPY EASTER ALL!!!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming...

for some shameless canine promotion!

This has been one of those barn burner weeks from hell and here I am at the end of "Hump Day" with very little to say. 20 more minutes and I'm outta here, fighting the questionably good fight through traffic, to come through the gate to a whirling, squealing, barking, talking, jumping, running, goosing (major goosing), huge ball of black and white and tan fun that has an unlimited amount of wet kisses - well until the food hits the bowl!

So, I'm about to inflict baby pics on ya! (since I've got nothing better to do) - think ya can handle it??? Big "AW!" factor looming ;)

3 weeks (OMG!)

5 weeks (no recovery from this!)

8 weeks (home!)

9 weeks (rules the roost!)

6 months (we're talking serious "weed" factor here)

It occurs to me that if we were to treat (or be treated by) our significant others with the same enthusiasm as this dog it would probably shake the earth...oh well, it's my post and I can daydream if I want ;)

Have a good night ya'll!

No naked cavorting in the park today...

(Apologies in advance to those of you who haven't seen the grass for the snow yet!!!)

...or yesterday for that matter. I know it was the first day of Spring yesterday...now! I missed it yesterday, but then, who'd have known. Yes, there is evidence of it everywhere - that is until you walk outdoors and the icy blast of regenerated winter blows up your shorts. So, frolic in your nothing-alls if you dare, but I think I'll go flip the switch on the fireplace instead - Pan can wait!

*as for my earlier post, I can breathe again*

OMMMMMMMMM...OMMMMMMMMM...OMMMMMMMM

I didn't want to do this...

* fucking blogger just ate the last 15 minutes of my life :( *
I didn't start this blog to do this either...but I'm so angry now that I just needed to vent. Aw fuck it - it's not even worth the bandwidth!
WILL SOMEONE PLEASE JUST POUR THE BIG BOTTLE OF SHOCK INTO THE POLITICAL POOL? Fuck the recommended dose - just dump the whole bottle! SHIT! Dump another bottle on Fox News while you're at it! &%#$$#!$%$&^%^%#

"Can you hear me now?"

Back up car - hear sickening "crunch".
Get out of car and pick up pieces of cell phone.
Think: Hmmm, 2nd loss in as many years.

note to self: some of us are not meant for electronic leashes!

Actually the first loss was far more entertaining:

The wind was gently blowing on a late spring day and I was enjoying the quiet and the sun on my face.

Obnoxious musical ring (Wm. Tell Overture)

"Hey dad? Is your phone leaking?"

I ignore the question and continue to hold my life by the fingertips of one hand while while trying to set a chock in a very small crack on the rock face with the other.

Obnoxious musical ring stops and I smile the smallest of smiles.

I finally find an accommodating space and the chock is set and I clip in and relax a wee amount. I look down and nod to Saucy-C, who's perched on a small ledge 30 feet below me, and turn to contemplate my next move (hopefully in an upward direction). 40 feet left on this 4th and final pitch and I look down to see the Buffledog 140 feet below, exploring some delicious new bit of doggie news. I change hands on the tenuous hold and dip the free hand in the chalk bag...

Obnoxious musical ring (Wm. Tell Overture)

"Hey dad! Your phone's leaking again."

I take the previously chalked up paw and retrieve phone from clip and flip it open in a white cloud of dust.

me - "Hello?"

caller - "Where are you?"

me - "Who's this?"

caller - "Trish. Where are you?"

me - "I'm not there!"

Trish - "Are you gonna sign off on these parts?"

me - "Today?"

Trish - "Yes, today. Customer wants them overnight! Where are you? You coming in."

me - "No."

...pregnant pause...

Trish - "You're the project engineer."

me - "What's your point? Did you check my calendar? Outlook does work someti..."

Trish - "NO!"

Switch hands while trying to cradle tiny phone, wishing I had a prehensile tail and wishing that I hadn't forgot to turn off and remove phone from belt at base of wall - or better yet, the truck.

me - "J can sign."

Trish - "She's not here either!"

me - "Did you check her calendar?"

Trish - "NO!"

me - "Find JR."

...pregnant pause...a long pregnant pause...

Wish again for prehensile tail and attempt to shift hands again...

Phone falls...

me shouting - "ROCK!"

...a very long way!

"Hey dad! Your phone's toast!"

I look down and the Buffledog was safely out of range.

I smile a much larger smile and insert free hand into chalk bag.

note to self: never again! Never, never again!

me shouting - "CLIMBING!"

Smiley Jack and the Blue Tick Revival

Here is yet another excerpt from days long gone and far away...

Some events happen in our lives that are so remarkable, yet so draped in diaphanous memory, that even years later the more time spent in reflection only serves to deepen the mystery.

Smiley Jack, one half of the brothers linear and lost - Jack and Boomer, provided much color and dimension to and otherwise nondescript southern small-town street. His level of involvement with the ebb and flow of daily commerce is generally limited to his presence. Presence he had, unlike his brother Boomer, who was always in a state of flux on the street, Smiley Jack would claim his square meter of earthly domain and would reign there for hours. He was a visual constant, dressed in his royal garb of starched and creased navy blue twill trousers, spit shined military boots, red nylon windbreaker and a crown of red net baseball cap embroidered with his kingdom’s moniker, “Farm Supply”. His command of territory was often the bane of the shopkeeper’s existence if he laid claim too close to their entryways. You see, “Smiley Jack” is an inverted nom de guerre of his ever dour countenance; a diametric illusion of his benign nature, therefore most of the town folk would give him a very wide berth. It is this wide berth that lends foundation to this tale.

Animal carcasses littering the streets and highways seems more predominate in rural communities than in the great urban bustle. Perhaps it’s the sheer proliferation of animal life, un-tethered in keeping with the spirit of freedom that exists in rural life that sets the stage for the morning gore. Most of us are affected in some manner with the demise of some hapless creature, having braved our busy boulevards and lost. So it was on the morning of this story.

Arriving at the shop, I was hailed by my neighboring shopkeeper, a florist and purveyor of generous humor when the days were slow. Often the butt of the joke was some unsuspecting passerby and in times of terminal dullness these quips would turn into exaggerated fantasy regarding their lives. This morning our florist was pointing to Smiley Jack, enthroned across the intersection on the post office sidewalk. Our transient monarch was presiding over a most unusual court of one, a fallen blue tick hound. From our vantage point it appeared to a fine specimen of a dog and we were sure of its keeper’s devastation when learning of its loss.

Some animals are held to near deification in areas that rely on them for sport and food and a good blue tick is held on such a pedestal in this locale. It was with great sadness that the postal patrons passed the grim scene. Smiley Jack was standing tall, as severe as ever and none dared to approach the animal.

A call to city hall was made to remove the carcass, as pedestrians moved to the street to skirt the terrible reality. Animal Control arrived and Smiley Jack was intractable and immobile in his stately manner. The officer noted the situation, perhaps thought better of upsetting the balance of the moment, shuffled into the post office and then moved on to other duties.

This static drama continued on for another hour or so with the only real change being in Smiley Jack’s decreasing distance from the animal. To see him move was like trying to discern the movement of the moon across the night sky. Soon, though, he was standing directly over the hound, a face of disquieting concentration.

In a move uncharacteristic of his regal pose, Smiley Jack squats down next to the dog and reaches out with his right hand and lays it upon the dog’s nose, wrapping his fingers over the bridge of dog muzzle. Here he stayed for ten minutes as the pedestrian traffic moved slowly by or stared in rapt attention.

Perhaps it’s the gossamer that time shrouds our memory with or it was simply the bizarreness of the event that cauterized the reality, I am not sure; but the accuracy of recounting what happened next is questionable.

The solemnity of the moment was shattered in an instant as Smiley Jack jumped up and staggered against the retaining wall with a look of shock and amazement on his usually granite features. With a lurch and a shake the dog stood up and looked straight at Smiley Jack; canine focus on him as intense as the focus Smiley Jack had on the hound earlier. The cacophony of thought amongst the bystanders was almost audible and whispered conversation began in waves. The dog moved away, down the sidewalk, turned and looked at Smiley Jack one last time before bounding off through the alleyway.

The numinous circumstance of the blue tick’s resurrection is anybody’s guess; however, more memorable than the canine’s revival was the “smile” on Smiley Jack’s face!

"HAPPY ST. PADDY'S DAY!!!" Drink beer - lots of beer =)

Oh! For the love of SNOW!

...AND WE DON'T HAVE ANY...TO SPEAK OF!

This was taken on Washington Pass at 5477 ft. Sunday 3/13 - temp 45'F. Pass was open 3 weeks earlier than the previous record. Usually there is snow over your head even in May and this is our water. We are in deep, dry doggie doodoo this summer. Can you say "Water Rationing?"

Note to self: recycle gray water to Japanese Maple trees

OK, I'm gonna say it, (me the poster child for Seasonal Affective Disorder) "We need the rain!" Oh! The karmic repercussions....!

Well, the Buffledog had a good time despite the lack =)

The sputtering flames of vanity

Seems to be a day of confessions...mea culpa, mea culpa...

I went out on Craigslist looking for a camera lens and in the process I went surfing all over the site and stopped, momentarily, by "missed connections". Other rags have similar personals like "I Saw U", etc. So I'm cruising around thinking to myself, "God, are there that many lonely people out there???" It was actually pretty depressing and I moved on to the "For Sale" stuff. Well, then I went back to M.C. again - so, I didn't read everything, you know?

Saturday, I'm sitting at my desk at work (stop! that hurts!) and had a successful search for a macro lens I'd been lusting after - time set to examine the merchandise that afternoon and I kinda wandered over to M.C. again. Hmmm, some of the post looked pretty interesting and an hour later I gave it up for some actual work.

Sunday I take the Bucolic Buffledog for a 3 mile strut around Greenlake and later that evening I find myself out on Craigslist again, deluding myself that I might have missed something under Canon photo stuff and once again "wandered" over to M.C. I finally admitted that I was looking for some post about "tall, handsome with the gorgeous Bernese - coffee and kibble?" Hey! This is my post! Anyway, WTF did I think I was doing and WTF would I have done if I did see it. Shit! Has my life flattened to that extent? No, Hot Sauce wouldn't have thought it funny at all. My vanity and imagination working double-time here...mea maxima culpa.

There were some entertaining post however, like this one - check it out! http://seattle.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/53935622.html

North is north if it's right (length warning)

Myopia - Dic.com describes it as "(1)...nearsightedness. Also called short sight. (2) Lack of discernment or long-range perspective in thinking or planning."

Ok, why the vocabulary quip?

I think that it has to do with how focused I've been on being unfocused lately and the word myopic keeps coming up. I've spent enormous amounts of time stewing in the same juice over and over and the pot never changes. I believe "they" say that doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results is a sign of insanity. Taken literally we're probably all insane to some degree. So I continue to support my ADD habit by having 7 or 8 books started (would surely be more if I hadn't run out of bookmarks and I'm probably OCD enough to not turn the corners down), innumerable house projects started and an unfathomable amount of personal projects (some dating back to the Near Stone Age). When I'm feeling particularly delusional I call myself "multi-tasking". I think they drew the line on that a thousand projects back. Isn't it hysterical how we can hold on to things that have become so irrelevant in our today lives? There is a tale that comes to mind that happened many moons ago that seems appropriate here.

The tale involves a time that I was actually acting on my over-stimulated right brained Theta period, teaming up with another artist doing a huge stained glass project for a church - a blissful time in-between rounds of corporate prostitution. After working in a small studio in the woods and all its associated impediments we moved the operation to a corner shop in town - right across from the post office. Given the foot traffic there was much interest in what was happening in this store that had been abandoned for years. Amongst the curious throng were a few that were simply street roamers - ones that you hope to God they don't cross the threshold. One in particular was Boomer. None of us knew his real name, but we knew he had an elder brother whom we called Smiley Jack. Neither of them had both feet on dry land but were certainly benign enough.

Boomer would pass by the windows of the shop and stop and stare at something in the display that would catch his attention. Most of the time the object of his devotion was obscure and much debate was launched over what it happened to be at that time. It took a long time to realize that it was the shop boom box that captured his fancy on many occasions, as it sat in the display window to keep it out of the dust and to drown out the traffic noise.

The weather began to warm and the shop door was propped open more and more often, as much to feel connected with the advancing spring as to let in a little fresh air. It was on such an occasion that we discovered the object of Boomer's affection; hence his nick-name.

It was widely known that doors were a very effective barrier for both Boomer and Smiley Jack. They would sometimes stop and look ruefully at the door, perhaps make a furtive gesture toward the doorknob, and then move on after a little internal dialog. Ah! but if the door was left open, we were warned, we might be in for a very long visit. Fate generally provides the avenue to either certify or dispel local myth and so it was one spring day that Boomer crossed the unprotected threshold and zeroed in on the boom box. He sat for hours in front of the appliance and would occasionally look about and laugh with some piece of music. Wary though we were, we exercised our new symbiotic relationship of putting in tapes and he would sit quietly until the music would begin and grace us with a smile or a laugh. Near closing time we were not sure how to usher him out but found the simplest solution was to turn off the boom box. After some ten minutes of uncomfortable wonderment he rose, adjusted his black horn rim glasses with their cliche' band-aide bound temples and wandered off on some other adventure.

Throughout the rest of the spring we learned the rules by which we could maintain some semblance of control; exercising them when we needed little distraction or were in customer conferences. Spring turned into summer and three days out of five Boomer would come ambling by the shop. The days that we shut the door we noticed that something else had his attention in the store window, but with all the clutter of finished work showcased there it was hard to determine what had caught his fancy. While loading a window into the truck for delivery we heard one the few words that Boomer would utter. In a clear voice, that belied all that we thought we had learned of him, the word "compass" was spoken. He then pointed to a small toy compass laying on the display shelf and said it again, "Compass!"

Given that the door was open, Boomer slipped in and, though pausing briefly at the boom box, went straight to the compass and pointed at it again. After giving him a grin and a nod he extricated the compass from its entanglement and slowly began to turn around and around. He would stop occasionally and turn the compass and utter another of his seemingly limited vocabulary - "North."

Since we were closing down to make our delivery we had to find a way to usher our entranced friend out the door. We couldn't just turn off the compass and neither of us had the heart to relieve him of such a treasure. He continued to turn, stop and say, "North." Finally, in frustration, I pointed to the door and said, "North is to the right!"

"Right!" he exclaimed and marched out the door turning right onto the sidewalk; compass in hand, a smile on his face, a happy camper! Until.....he reached the street corner. There he stood, face set in worried concentration and looking at the compass. We pulled away from the curb and left him to his conundrum.

Returning to the shop two hours later we saw him plodding steadily forth around the corner and to the right of the shop; a portrait of studied concentration. We ducked into the shop, wondering if he had just decided on a course of action. What must have been 15 minutes later he passed by the shop windows, full attention on his compass until he reached the corner. There was a replay of his earlier deliberation and simultaneously blurting out "Right!" and turning right, he moved off up the block mouthing "North."

He continued on his oblique quest, circling the block for the remainder of the day. He always engaged in internal debate at the corner and moving on always to the right, muttering "North."

Curious it was that some force, unseen and unnoticed by us mere mortals, came to scoop up our determined trekker and his brother, Smiley Jack, thus disappearing until the light falls on the morrow.

Later that month we found the compass on the doorstep one morning, without a note and little more fanfare than the careful placement upon the granite threshold. Whether he grew weary of his journey or another more pressing interest grabbed his attention, we will never know. We did discover though that the compass needle was stuck on north; a condition we suspect was there from the beginning of this tale.

Perhaps we too, bound by our limits and boundaries (self imposed or not) make logical the literal and stay on our own circuitous paths: turning right to follow north, only to lap the block.

Darby O'Gill and the One Finger Salute

Hey! I can take a joke - most of the time. I figure if I'm gonna dole 'em out (which happens often and regularly) that I need to be able to take 'em as well. I usually consider the source knowing that paybacks are hell! There are times however that catch me completely off guard and therefore put me off balance. This morning's commute was one of them.

First of all I HATE my commute - now double what it was a few months ago at 34 miles one way, in sucky traffic and usually multiple weather conditions (high side to bay side to the valley). I'm mostly ok until 30 feet out of the driveway and the fun begins - the Jeckyl/Hyde transformation starts - I try to chill, honestly, but there are more of "them" than my patience will allow.

Now this morning had already been a bizarre ride through some of the worst fog ever and just as it cleared I saw a beat up Beetle charging up my right side and slowed just as it came beside me - Jeez H! I thought I dropped into a Monty Python set - it took a minute to register, but I realized that for someone St. Paddy's Days came a bit early! This guy was too cliche' for words, with his green derby, green jacket and booze hued bulbous WC Fields beak...and...his face was flushed with what I soon realized was anger of the first order.

This overstuffed leprechaun was screaming something incomprehensible - I figured I must've cut him off or something during my slalom thru the fog at 80+ (in my offence, I was trying to dodge the trucks). Here 's the problem though, this guy was so comical that I just broke up laughing - I just couldn't help it. Seemed the harder I laughed the madder he was getting and just when it couldn't get any better I got the best one finger salute ever! Stabbing the air was this very bright, day-glow green finger. Now I've been flipped off before - curse of urban living - but this was too much. The harder he stabbed the air, the harder I laughed. My exit left to the 405 was coming up fast and Darby O wasn't paying much attention. I go left and the leprechaun takes a ride through the grass median since he wasn't paying attention. I was still laughing 15 minutes later.

Perhaps I deserved it - maybe I didn't - I honestly don't recall fucking with a leprechaun filled bug and if I did, well, I'm sorry. The image of Darby O smashing his derby on the roof of the bug as he bounced through the grass is still too much to bear...perhaps if he picks his nose he'll leave a green skid mark...

Decapitated Needle

ACCKKKKKKKK! The Space Needle lost her squat little head this morning!

"...and if you go chasing rabbits..."

Ok, ok, it was hidden by the lifting fog at sunrise. The shock to look up from the Ship Canal Bridge and only see the legs of the girl was disconcerting at best - one of those surreal moments that challenge one's connection to Earth. This was going to be one of those incredibly froggy (and foggy) days today.

Day before yesterday Mt. St. Helens decides to disgorge some pent up energy. Just about every Blog I read yesterday and today seems to smack of pent up energies. I do believe that Spring Fever has hit many of us square in the face, or more accurately square in the crotch! Frankly, since we all seem to be rolling around in "horny goat-dom" we should henceforth call it "Pan Fever!"

So, the pic above is my oblique offering to Pan and his damnable? fever...go forth and frolic!

Buffle-brunch

I was cleaning off the refrigerator and this was stuck to it - my food instructions to the doggie sitter for the Buffledog while I was gone to the "right coast".

Bowl
1 cup kibble + bag of chicken (1 cooked chicken breast) - OR - 1 ½ cups of kibble
½ can of green beans
1 cup chopped broccoli & carrots
¾ cup (6oz) of tomato juice
3 squirts of salmon oil
mix with powdered supplements
½ tsp. CMO (morning only)
½ tsp. Prozyme (no, it's not an anti-depressant - he's mellow enough as it is!)
¼ tsp. (rounded) glucosamine
¼ tsp. Vitamin C
¼ tsp. MSM
¼ tsp. Shark cartilage
½ tablet Rimadyl (1 whole tablet if he's limping - no more than 2 full tabs/day)
1 cap Vitamin E

Kong
Fill Kong with kibble and cap with p'nut butter/kibble mix

Roll-y Ball (one of his favs - rolling the orange ball about with his nose, dispensing the kibble a piece at a time - keeps him busy while I get dressed)
¾ cup kibble

I think the Bookie-pooch eats healthier than I do!!! He's certainly in better shape since the elbow surgery last August.

This morning he was in rare form and ran pretty much the entire 2 miles. He's such an "ambly-dor" most of the time, focused more on found food and doggie news, that it's a surprise (a happy surprise) when he takes a notion for motion. It is pretty entertaining watching a 130# Bernese freight train move that quickly - something that he wouldn't do prior to the surgery. Since our morning walks are off-leash he wore my butt out today - I'm thinking about scarfing up some of his supplements.

A disassembled life

I've just spent 8 days with family! I could just stop right here and many of you would know the rest of the story - not exactly what one would characterize as a restful vacation. It was all the more intense given that we are about the business of disassembling a household as well as a life that 2 people had built over many, many years.

Mom died a year ago and the past year has been tough on all of us, but especially tough on Dad. He has managed to continue on in the house despite his diminishing eyesight due to macular degeneration and age related mobility issues. Recently he fell and broke his leg and while tending to that they discover a blocked artery and installed a stint. "No more living alone!" said the cardiologist and off to my brother's house he went - reluctantly, but he went none the less. I know as a family we are fortunate to have a household that he could go to and doubly fortunate that his new home in a multi-level care facility will be finished in November '05.

Now comes the hard part! I would have thought that watching Mom slip away was the toughest duty; well, I'm here to say that it is not! Watching the dissolution of a home and watching the man you thought had no more romance than the nearest stone, touch and angst over every decision to keep or toss is hard duty. Seeing this from 36,000 feet with resolve and determination that this visit I was going to make a difference, decisions were going to be made and action was going to be taken. We were no longer going to visit over coffee until noon and then perhaps get some little meaningless project done or mundane errand run, we were going to move forward with something to show for a 6,000 mile round trip. HA! Ground zero was a wee bit different - all the little things that would be picked up had some story attached to it. I knew some of the stories and some I'd heard so often I could repeat it word for memorable word. So my resolve dissolved and I would find myself listening with an intensity that I didn't know I possessed - knowing that someday these memories, however sketchy, would be all there would be left. We poured over boxes of photos and negatives from his days as a news photographer, looking for his notion of the hour. I read the descriptions on the manila jackets aloud and the flow would stop about every tenth one as a tale erupted from his photographic mind. The search was fruitless, but I did come away with more knowledge than my mind could hold and I wondered the value of trying to know the infinite detail of the life/lives of this couple - my parents - the detail beyond my own memories.

I watched the resignation and the concern wash over his face as items were handed to or described to him. I watched the release of the thousand and one things that had value to him/them at one time but appears to be just fodder for the trash bin or Goodwill store. He knows he cannot take it all with him to the new condo and he knows that our houses all have similar stuff. I watched as he gave much attention to many things trivial, avoiding the big decisions like which furniture he really wanted to take. I watched him make decisions regarding the dissemination and fair distribution of items amongst my siblings and yet it was clear that he really didn't want to decide on those things that would make up his new life - a life irrevocably changed a year ago. Denial is a formidable agent. Perhaps that will not happen until a crisis forces it like the impending sale of the house.

Again at 36,000 feet I found myself deconstructing the short few days past and once again resolving that the next time things would get done, movement would happen, choices would be made.

Tonight I simply look forward to the visit that allows for coffee until noon, listening to a time from before and not having to be the architect of disassembly.