Moving On

Comes a time to move on. This blog has about played itself out. It’s been fallow since we had to put our dog, my longtime friend Rainey to sleep. So I’m moving on to a new blog; follow the link.
An American’s Story.

I’ve had a 6 year run on this site.  2011. We were still pulling out of the great recession; my daughter was embarking on the American Dream with a husband, a house, two kids, two dogs and a gecko named Charlie.  My son’s daughter Sophie, our first grandchild was just starting school yet still latching on to her stuffed dog that she had since infancy; appropriately named Doggie.  Doggie is still around; a keepsake for Sophie’s parents. In 2011 I could ride a bike 100 miles. It’s something that I’m sure I could still do but instead I’d just ask myself - why?

2011, It was the year that saw the final voyage of the Space Shuttle; that program that elicited amazement at it's inception and after a couple of years and but for two disasters, inspired jaded indifference. It was the year when Steve Jobs, Joe Frazier, Al Davis, Betty Ford and Andy Rooney all passed on; among other luminaries and the common folk who went to their last reward. I was particularly touched by the passing of Harry Morgan who played Colonel Potter on my favorite TV show, MASH. Kim Jong Il passed on and bequeathed the world Kim Jong Un. Much to the chagrin of American conservatives Bin Laden was killed during the watch of Obama and I imagine that terrorist SOB is being force fed bacon and ham sandwiches in the deepest bowels of hell. Anthony Weiner flashed and instead of flaming out, his degenerate little story managed to haunt the Clinton campaign 5 years later. By year’s end Robert Griffin III would win the Heisman Trophy and where in the hell is he today?  Also at year’s end Newt Gingrich referred to Palestinians as “invented people” and unfortunately 6 years later we can’t be asking that where the hell is he now question about ole’ Newt.

2011 was the year when, dogged by knaves and fools President Obama did what he never should have been pressured to do; he released his birth certificate and years later a certifiable loon would take credit for forcing the president’s hand. Who would have thought that 6 years later that self-same screwball and a gang of cutthroats would comprise the United States government.

It’s not as if I haven’t been blogging.  My good friend Scott and I embarked on a project this past January, titled 1461 – Living in the Trump Years. The whole idea was to chronicle our humble insights on America’s national right turn towards the abnormal.  It was short lived.  A month or so in and I was slapped with the realization that it was an exercise in self-flagellation. I’d grown sick of the nastiness; sick of the administration; disgusted by the right and almost equally disgusted by the left which I usually relate to.  I told Scott that what began as a labor of love had taken on all the appeal of being the county road kill collector.  That blog is still online, albeit out of date. Take a visit if you like.

And so I’m on the move; to a new blog. An American's Story. Check it out!

“Go back?" he thought. "No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!" So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.”                                                                                                                       From The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

Farewell to a Friend

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

It’s been a month since the Saturday that began with such great promise.  I’d managed to get myself up early and got in a good run; 40 minutes, pouring sweat and feeling exhausted.  Not the “I think I’m going to die,” exhausted. It was the kind of exhaustion that makes you feel great knowing it was damned good effort. Longest run in as far back as I could recall. It was going to be a good day.  Changed into a dry shirt and headed for Starbuck’s for morning coffee.  The Starbuck’s drill on a Saturday morning is to cruise by and peek inside.  Yeah, lined up to the door.  Never mind the coffee I needed to get home to see how our dog Rainey did overnight. When I walked in she was lying in the downstairs bedroom.  She sensed that I was home and struggled to get up on her three legs to greet me; a good sign.

Then came the screams.  

It's Just A Dog

“It’s just a dog.”  That’s what she said.  That was her first offense.  Her second offense was saying it to someone who had had to put down her two Rottweilers within about a year of each other.  Actually what she really said was, “It’s just a fucking dog.” Which only served to redouble the offense.  This was part of a friend to friend conversation. 

After ACL surgery

Tripod

That’s odd - I’m dreaming about a braying donkey.  A few moments of confusion when I came out of that deep sleep and the donkey hadn’t gone away.  Geeze, it’s my dog and that’s not a dream.  Rainey had rolled over onto the site where her leg had once been and was screaming in pain.  I got up and helped her to sit up.  She whimpered and quivered while I rubbed her head and held her.  Once calm I made sure that she laid down so that she wouldn’t roll onto the wound again.  Back in bed I wondered, ‘Did we do the right thing?’  I glanced down and she was already back to sleep and once I calmed myself down I reasoned that this is going to be one of multiple challenges for the next 10 days or so.  ‘Don’t get hasty with doubts.’

It's Not My Time Dad

I’m not an overly spiritual kinda guy.  I pray, though not religiously – so to speak.  That is to say I don’t pray nearly as much as the wife but more than my daughter – who doesn’t pray at all (so I guess that would be damning myself with faint praise).  When it comes to praying I can’t hold a votive candle to the wife. In my own spiritual defense though I do pray for things more substantive than the elusive winning lottery ticket or the local nine going to the World Series.  And while my devotion is often fleeting there are those times when I’m given pause to consider that there may be some sort of providence at work.  But providence does have to hit me in the face – hard.

My Buddy, My Friend

You're my buddy, my pal, my friend

It will be that way until the end

“How do you know when it’s time?” I’d asked the vet a couple weeks ago.  “Well, she’ll have good days and she’ll have bad days .  You’ll learn to recognize those and then when she has more bad than good then you need to start considering putting her to sleep.”

Good days and bad.  Last Saturday (a week ago) was a very bad day.  Late in the evening I literally thought that she was dying.  The next morning when I got home from a morning run she looked at me with bright eyes; alert and inquisitive.  “Welcome home, where have you been?  Running without me?” she seemed to ask.  Sunday was pretty good.  Sunday was also the day that I decided to pull out two little left over bunk bed mattresses.  I laid them one on top of the other next to her dog bed and spent the night in my sleeping bag.  When she seemed a little restless I reached over and stroked her head.  That was in the little downstairs “computer room.”

Boundless Love

Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. ~ Roger Caras

She’s trying gamely to walk around the house, 

albeit awkwardly with the pink bandage on her lower front leg.  She’s eating again.  She comes around and hits me with her nose, her way of saying, “Hey old man get me some head scratching.”  There’s no moping in a crate, raising a painful paw in supplication It’s starting to feel like I have my dog back.  She’s alert again - pissed off when someone has the effrontery to ring the bell on HER door. She goes back near the open kitchen window to stick her nose up and see what kind of smells are out there. I feel like I have my dog, my best friend, back again.   She’s not totally whole yet.  She struggles to get to her feet because that one paw is still weak and doesn’t give her the leverage to lift her up.  It’s certainly still sore but she isn’t afraid to put some pressure on it.  The stairs are supposed to be off limits but Rainey saw an opportunity when the gate was left down and she bolted up and went to one of her favorite sleeping haunts. The other night she asked to go out on the back patio. So the two of us sat quietly in the warmth of a summer evening.  She stuck her nose up and looked into the night. It twitches as she picks up a scent.  Something irritated her and she barked into the darkness. I’m getting my dog back.