The Polecat…

I have no idea how to start this, as I’m trying to explain a person.  Not just any person, mind you, but a truly spectacular human being.  I’ll start, I guess, with my first impression.  My best friend and I attended Va. Tech, and resided in the same dorm.  In our first week we were introduced to two girls, roommates from across the Prairie (this was the expanse between three dorms, so named I assume because you technically can’t call it a quad).  I was immediately drawn to one…she was tall and blond.  Her roommate had a bit of tough girl persona, wearing a jean jacket with a giant bleached in peace sign on the back.  We spent a lot of time together, the four of us…Within a week I was disenchanted with the willowy blond, as our minds didn’t connect.  But I saw a connection between my best friend and the roommate…it was like this crazy explosion.  We continued our escapades,  going out and having the fun that college freshman do.  And in that time, while I watched my best friend fall in love, I realized I was falling in love too…in a different way.  Here was a tantalizing female that stimulated my mind and soul…but in the platonic way of a best friend.  Wait…now I have two!  That’s never a bad thing, and certainly doesn’t hurt if they’re married.

She’s The Polecat because we’re both Polish Catholics…She and I connect in so many ways…and she’s a catalyst for this blog, as she believes in me, and encouraged me to start it.

Tumbleweed Connection…

I struggle sometimes to decide what my favorite Elton John album is…it’s a toss up, but song for song, I come back to Tumbleweed Connection.  “The Ballad of a Well Known Gun” is a rousing start…then the album lilts into “Come Down in Time”…touching and poignant lyrics worthy of Bernie Taupin’s immense talent…Then I’m captivated by, “My Father’s Gun”…the story of a son who inherits his father’s gun, and takes up arms in the Civil War…”Where to Now St. Peter”  asks me which road we’re on…do we know?  “Amoreena” is a love song…a song about that special girl…the one we can’t seem to get over…and then…there is “Old Soldiers Talking”….this song is so incredibly powerful…It’s about two veterans, reminiscing about their days at war, and the friends they had lost…”Into the Old Man’s Shoe’s”  is a son’s realization that his father was larger than he ever imagined…and that filling his shoes will be harder to fill than he anticipated…The album…yes, I said album, takes me through a gamut of emotions, and makes me contemplate all of life…it’s gifts and curses…When an album, (yep, said it again) can make you think…really think, It’s a gift and a testament to the artist.  When it evokes emotion, so much better, as it brings out a part of us that we often keep hidden. 

Karma from the Bay…

I’ve been lamenting the condition of Trouble’s Bee for a couple of months.  It’s dingy and careworn, a bit frayed at the edges…but it still flies true.  Until the day it’s either lost in the bay on an outgoing tide, or broken down to the point that aerodynamics are compromised, I’ll keep it in flight.  And the Black Dog is just fine with it.  Today was a great day…the weather was absolutely incredible, and I figured we’d do the standard trail walk/frisbee throw until rush hour was over, then we’d venture to the beach.  So you know, we have to cross Shore Dr. to get the bay, so timing is essential.  We set out at around 6:30, and promptly crossed Shore…Trouble carrying her Bee the whole way, proudly, and with a little strut.  On the beach it’s perfect, with a nice southeasterly breeze, and the remnants of the day’s baytrippers are still enjoying the sun and water.  Black Dog is totally on her game, snaring any throw within her grasp.  On the off throws…which are totally my fault…she brings back a sand encrusted Bee which promptly gets flipped into the water.  On one of Trouble’s forced swims I noticed a familiar object in the sand.  I got a little closer and realized it was a Bee in pristine condition. Same make, same model.  I felt almost guilty as I looked around…no other dogs in sight.  I scooped it up, and and flipped it into the breeze just as Trouble approached with her old Bee.  She didn’t hesitate, but dropped the current toy and took off after the new Bee, catching it in stride.  We’ve lost at least 4 Bees in the bay on bad weather days, and there was a small part of my mind wondering if this might be one of them.  No self respecting dog would leave their Bee on the beach, and a competent owner would never allow it.  So how does this same model Bee end up just at the tide line?  I’m going with Karma…what goes around comes around.  I’m a believer in the way we live, the way we treat people, is returned to us in kind.  I know there are a lot of factors involved, but in the end it’s what we believe is true…perception is reality.  And I’m sticking to the fact that Karma, and the Chesapeake Bay, returned a long lost frisbee to Trouble because she’s a good dog.

ADDog…

     I’m still giggling to myself as I’ve just witnessed a first with The Black Dog.  We began our afternoon ritual, with wind gauging tosses of the Bee in the parking lot and up Jade Ct.  My hound is manic, and totally focused on the Bee.  As we enter the trail I see a squirrel just off to the side, just munching away on whatever it is squirrels munch away on.  Black Dog is still on the Bee in my hand, and I have a decision…throw now and take my chances with the inevitable and fruitless chase (she’s 0-4893, give or take 100, in 8.5 years) or wait out the squirrel.  I toss it high with an angle, knowing it will come back to her, and she’ll have to turn away from the symbol of her lifelong frustration to make the catch.  Well, best laid plans made way for a priceless moment.  Trouble ran just past the tiny beast and posted up for the catch.  At that moment the squirrel bolted, causing a quick about face for The Black Dog…just in time for the Bee to bonk her on the back of the head.  She shook her head, looked a bit confused for an instant and scooped the Bee up, forgetting there was ever a distraction.  She was back on task.  Me?…I had a newfound understanding of the phrase doubled over, as my hands were on my knees laughing uncontrollably at this goofy mutt.  It’s the little things in life folks…the tiny laughs we have at the simplest of life’s experiences, that get me through every day, and make me look forward to the next.

Hug Your Dogs,

Mike

The Giving Tree

One of the most profound stories of my childhood is The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein.  The idea of unconditional love, and the unending sacrifice to serve it is captured by the author in such a simple way.  Boys climb trees…it’s what we do.  And we have our favorites…low, heavy branches…a stout trunk.  But we rarely take a care at the living being we’re using to further our ascent…to reach for the sky.  Shel Silverstein not only makes us take notice, but gives that being a voice, a mind and a soul.  The beauty of the book, in my mind, is that it’s a direct reflection of a parent’s love for their child.  They will do anything for that child…and sacrifice anything…their apples, branches and trunk.  And it’s a reminder to children that your parents always have your back.  

I found this on youtube…it’s Shel Silverstein narrating The Giving Tree, complete with original art.  I so want to climb a tree right now…

 

 

Peace, as Always,

Mike

Dragons and Lessons Learned…

One of the reasons I love animated films is that the creators always strive to deliver a multi-layered message, which appeals to the child in all of us, but also speaks to our adult sensibilities.  Jiminy Cricket was my first experience with this.  As a boy he was the cute little sidekick to Pinocchio, but as an adult I see he was really the lead role in the story.  Our conscience, our moral compass, is what guides us through life and Disney managed to embed Jiminy into the story in such a way that the message was received, and not spurned for a heavy handed approach.  Therein lies the magic.

I now find myself captivated by the story of a boy and a dragon…yeah, I said dragon.  I’ve watched “How to Train Your Dragon” several times now, and each time I walk away with yet another insight.  I’ll start with that nearest to my heart…the bond between a boy and his pet. The relationship begins with trust…earning it…and deserving it.  The boy and the dragon come to terms through a series of trials and errors…and both realize they need the other.  It’s a perfect, symbiotic relationship…hmmm, reminds me of The Black Dog.

The overall themes of the film are tolerance and acceptance.  Vikings always understood dragons to be a menace…it was how they were raised, so they continued the belief, the prejudice.  Sound familiar?  It took one of their own to breach the expanse, to open their minds. But even that single voice wasn’t enough without proof. Why must we have physical proof of one’s convictions? Why doesn’t our word, our solemn vow, serve to convince others? Breaking down the walls is just a difficult process, I guess.

The story gets personal for me when I look at the relationship between the boy and his father. These are two very different individuals, with different outlooks. But they come to realize they have common ground, a space they can share. It’s taken a long time for us, but I think my pop and I finally have some common ground. Man, it’s been a journey…but I love my dad. He’s the smartest man I’ve ever known. Stoick and Hiccup came to a similar realization…I’ve rambled, and I hope that’s ok…I just want to say I love you pop…

Our Mortal Coil…

I arrived home this evening to find emergency vehicles occupying a large portion of my parking lot.  The patient is my next door neighbor…an elderly woman whose daughter has moved in with her,and I can only think she did so for this very reason.  I didn’t want to pry, but my natural curiosity had me observing the events.  I felt a twinge of sadness, not knowing what the prognosis was, or how things will work out.  It brought me here, writing about a feeling that I can’t quite wrap my head around.  Or maybe I just don’t want to wrap my head around it.  Is that cowardice?  Death is the conclusion of every life, and my father and I are of the same opinion that when your time has come, there’s no changing it.  Is this her time?  I so hope not…

So sorry to be morbid friends.  I’m hoping my neighbor is ok…and I’m hoping her daughter is strong. And I’m hoping…just hoping…

Peace All,

Mike

The Mosey…

Over the past several months I’ve been engaged in some serious dog training.  Curbing unwanted behaviors…reinforcing desired actions…even employing a bit of emotion into the scenario to get results.  The problem is, I’ve been the trainee, not the trainer.  Sometimes I hate a smart dog.  To best illustrate, I’ll take you through an average afternoon after work.  As the key hits the lock Trouble is already at the door, and the knob turning is much like winding up a child’s toy, because when that door opens, The Black Dog is already spinning and emitting this gurgling sort of whine.  Of course I’ve got the goofy dog speak going, which is like gas to a flame.  “Hello sweet girl…I know…I missed you too…” and so on.  I put down my computer, take off a coat if I have one, then the nuzzle session ensues.  Then it’s telling her…”We’re getting ready to go…just hang on”  of course in that singsong lilt only intended for dogs and small children.  So I change, of course enduring an extra vigorous Butt Dance as I lace my sneaks, grab the ever requisite bags and frisbee and we’re off.  The energy is incredible!  I figure the wind, then start flipping the Bee and the hound is unleashed…literally.  We make our way to the trail…usually encountering familiar pooches and their people, but sometimes it’s just the two of us.  Here’s where I start to get played…whether 15 minutes or an hour, as long as the Bee is in the air, my dog has juice…even at 8.5 years.  The time always comes though, when I say “Find your spot” and she knows she has to hunker down and make things happen.  Then alas, with the passing of the poo, an elderly, decrepit worn out dog has somehow replaced my vivacious frisbee dog. As  I begin the walk back I issue a sharp whistle…nothing…chewing tall grass is infinitely more important.  Still in place, I give the “Trouble…NOW” command…the grass is that much tastier…two to three steps towards her is all it takes and she knows I mean business.  She starts towards me, but begins The Mosey.  The dog chasing a dragonfly 5 minutes ago is now sauntering along, head hung low, inexplicably getting detained by what must be a heretofore undiscovered scent.  She’s dead dog walking.  So begins our trip back to the condo, her Mosey more pronounced with every step.  Like a sucker (and a guy who’s ready to get back) I begin the the treat chant…”Comone” (with my drawl it’s all one word), “Comone…let’s getta treat!”  Now I’m also Moseying, and as we ever so slowly make our way back it occurs to me that I am but the grasshopper, and my dog is truly the master.

Peace Friends,

Mike

Addendum: This morning it was an off road Mosey, complete with apparently yummy grass.