STORY-TELLING TIME: MIKE AND MOTHER

Dear George, 

Spring quarter has begun for our OLLI classes (the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute). In addition to my regular poetry class, I signed up for “Telling Our Stories, Finding Ourselves.” I thought it was a writing course, but instead it’s oral story-telling. I don’t tell stories out loud very often, so this seemed like a good opportunity. Our first assignment was to tell a story about a scary childhood event. Here’s a written version of the story I told. 

When my dad came back from the war our family moved out of town to a cottage that my grandfather had built on the banks of the Menominee River. There was only one other family on our road, so we children were responsible for entertaining ourselves. The river quickly became the center of our universe. Swimming and boating in the summer, hiking across the frozen ice in the winter. The other family — Lou Reed and his wife — lived a half mile west of us and owned a handsome Irish Setter named Mike. Lou and Mike would regularly walk down the road to visit us. Lou would chat with my parents while we children would play with the dog. I think Mike had a wonderful time because, after a few visits, he started running away and coming to our house by himself to play. Lou tried to contain him, but, after a few such episodes, he gave up, and he gave the dog to our family. 

Mike lived with us for many years. He was a wonderful dog, smart, affectionate, loyal, beloved by children and parents alike. One spring weekend we were playing in the house because, with the warmer weather, the ice on the river had started to melt and we were not allowed to go out on it. However, someone looked out the window and saw that Mike was out on the ice. Suddenly, to our horror, we saw him fall through into the water. We called our mother who was the only parent home at the time. She commanded us to stay in the house, no matter what, grabbed her coat, and ran out to the river. Mike, by now, was barely able to keep his nose above the water. As Mother got closer, she lay down on the ice and crawled to him on her stomach. Watching from the living room window, we children were terrified. If the ice couldn’t support a dog, how could it support an adult human being? Mike was out far enough that the water was over a human’s head — probably eight or nine feet deep. So dangerous. 

Mother reached the edge of the hole that Mike had created. Then, with an amazing feat of strength, she reached into the freezing water, grabbed beneath the seventy-pound dog’s front legs, and hoisted him out of the water back onto the ice. Dog and owner made their way back to the shore and then up to the house. We children were crying with relief and joy. I don’t think we ever looked at our mother the same way again. Even today, I think of this as the most heroic act I’ve ever personally witnessed. 

Love, 

Dave

GOODBYE, SWEET IKO

Dear George, 

Recently we had to have Iko, our beloved miniature Schnauzer, euthanized. He had been bleeding from the mouth, and we took him in for dental surgery. However, the vet found a large tumor at the back of his throat -- an aggressive melanoma -- and she recommended that he be put down. Shocked and miserable, we reluctantly agreed. 

Iko has been such a loving companion. He slept with us every night, starting out in the middle of the bed, but then snuggling up to one or another of his humans. When I got out of bed in the morning, we've have our daily wrestling match. Iko would growl, roll on his back, kick his legs in the air, and play-bite my hands or wrists. The happiest part of his day. Then we would go for our morning walk. Iko was more of a sniffer than a walker, checking out every telephone pole, fire hyudrant, and piece of litter, leaving his marker on each. Workman arrivals were times of great excitement, and we would reassure the visitor that Iko likes to bark a lot but would never bite. The cleaning ladies were his highlight of the week. They loved Iko, and he loved them. 

We are strugling with our loss. I look for Iko every time I move from one room to another, and my biological clock reminds me of times for our walks. My exercise routine has dropped by fifty percent. Iko was a big part of Katja's and my relationship, an object of constant attention and great shared affection. We will recover but it's going to take a while.

Love, 

Dave

DOGS OF OUR DAYS

Dear George, 

Last week Katja and I watched the Westminster Kennel Club Show, an annual tradition in our household. Such beautiful animals. We were thrilled this year because four of our own family pets’ breeds wound up as winners or runners-up in their respective groups: the German Shepherd and the Old English Sheepdog (herding group), the Poodle (toy group), and the Schnauzer (working group). Here are a few stories about our pet sweeties from 1960 to the present, running the gamut from tragedy to joy.

Heather (1960-61). Katja and I got married in August 1960, and we moved to Ann Arbor for graduate school two days later. A few weeks later I came home to our apartment and was surprised to find that Katja had bought a German Shepherd puppy. It was love at first sight. We named her Heather, and she became the center of our young married lives. I spent so much time playing with Heather, it was hard to keep up with my studies. By early spring our eighty-year-old landlady was tiring of Heather’s barking while we were away, so we arranged with a friend to have her stay in his backyard during the daytime. We came home one afternoon, and our friend was waiting there in tears. Heather had been tied to a chain, and she tried to climb over the fence, got hung by the neck, strangled, and died. I still get teary-eyed writing about it. 

Jacques (1966-1973).  We were winding up our time in Ann Arbor a few years later when my brother Steven started law school at Wayne State in Detroit. He and his wife Margie had acquired a black poodle named Jacques in Florida, but their new apartment complex in suburban Detroit didn’t allow dogs so we agreed to take him. Jacques was a remarkably smart and loyal dog, though also capable of mischief. One evening during exam week we stayed on campus much later than normal, basically forgetting that Jacques was at home and needed a walk. Katja had recently sewn red velvet curtains for the living room and dining room. When we got home, we found that Jacques had pulled every curtain down onto the floor and pooped on each one. A clear message for his negligent owners. Like Heather, Jacques came to a tragic end. We spent the summer of 1973 on a research project in Bethel, Maine. On our last night we hired a baby-sitter so we could have a farewell dinner out. The baby-sitter was crying when we returned home. She had let Jacques out of the house, and he had gone out to the road and was run over by a lumber truck. We buried him by the little creek in back of our rented mobile home. 

Winston (circa 1975-1992). I came home from work one day in the mid-70’s and was surprised to find an exotic-looking dog in our house. He was a Bedlington Terrier that Katja had had flown in from a breeder in Northern Illinois. Winston was our most sociable dog, prone to approaching every passerby on the street to get petted. Because of his unusual appearance, people frequently asked if he were a dog. After a while I started saying, “No, he’s a lamb,” and people didn’t know whether to believe me or not. His groomer participated in national grooming competitions, and she took Winston on trips through the Midwest and the East Coast. We felt like we were parents of a Hollywood star. Winston lived to a ripe old age — blind, deaf, demented, and incontinent in his final year. 

Mike and Duffy (circa 2000-2015). Some years later I came home one day from work, and Katja was on the porch talking to a neighbor. The back door was open, and I saw two little furry creatures which I first took to be baby raccoons. In fact, they were Old English Sheepdog puppies, three months old and frisky as could be. Katja had gone to see the litter in Fairfield, thinking she might buy one, but two of the puppies were so attached to one another that she couldn’t bear to separate them, and she brought both of them home. Mike and Duffy became a famous fixture in our Clifton neighborhood, and everyone wanted to give them a pet or take a selfie. I spent a lot of time with our friend Donna and her sheepdog Sophie walking our group in Mt. Airy, Miami Whitewater Forest, Eden Park, and Burnet Woods. Our hearts were broken once again when the dogs had to be put down in old age. 

Iko (2020 - present). Our son J and his family live in New Orleans, but, when the pandemic began, they decided to move temporarily to California where the “plague” was less severe. J drove up to Cincinnati with their two family dogs, Iko and Li’l Paws, and we took care of them for about three months. Iko, a miniature schnauzer, had spent his early years in a brothel on Tulane Avenue in New Orleans, then became a street dog until my daughter-in-law K and a friend Alex rescued him at an SPCA Outreach event. When J returned from California he asked if we would like to keep Iko, and we said yes. Iko is the cuddliest of our dogs. He gets on the couch to watchTV with us, resting his head on one or the other of his parents’ legs. He’s definitely made our lives more enjoyable. 

I think we’ve always been meant to be a dog family, and we’ve treated our dogs pretty much like human beings and as full-fledged family members. Getting a dog is a complicated matter. They can be expensive, require walking whether rain or shine, make traveling more complicated, and have a relatively short life span. However, in my mind, they’re such a source of happiness than it outweighs all of the cons. All of our dogs have been wonderful. If one is craving love and affection, hardly any living creature can rival a pet dog. They go out of their minds every time you walk in the door. 

 Love, 

Dave

THE NEEDLE-EATING DOG

Dear George, 

Iko has lived with us for twenty months. He’s a Miniature Schnauzer, about nine years old and twenty-two pounds, full of spunk and sweet as can be. He spent his growing up years in a brothel on Tulane Avenue in New Orleans. Then he escaped, became a street dog for a while, wound up in the pound, and was rescued by our son Justin and his family. When the pandemic began, Justin brought Iko up to Cincinnati for safekeeping, and he’s been here ever since. He enjoys his walks, during which he barks at every dog and person in sight, and is particularly happy to have his daily wrestling match, rolling on his back and feigning fearsome bites to my forearm. 

 Iko has been in good health until a recent night-time walk when he squatted 6 or 7 times but was unable to produce anything. The next day he started vomiting and having diarrhea, became disinterested in food, and slept most of the time. No wrestling even. Katja said she was going to call the vet, but I tried to dissuade her. “The vet costs a fortune, and this is just a routine bug that will go away in a day or two.” Accustomed to my frugality, Katja paid no attention and soon we were on the way to the animal clinic. 

 We sat in the waiting room while the vet examined Iko. After an hour he came back out. They’d done a lot of tests, taken X-rays, and given Iko intravenous fluids. The vet said his symptoms looked like pancreatitis which is common to Miniature Schnauzers, but the X-rays had also revealed a needle in his abdomen. He might have swallowed it recently or it might have been there for a long time. He asked Katja if she were a seamstress, but we couldn’t imagine when or where Iko had found a needle to swallow. The test results for pancreatitis were due back in 24 hours, but the vet was concerned that the needle could pierce his stomach wall and Iko could bleed to death. He recommended that we take him to the emergency 24/7 veterinary hospital where they have more sophisticated equipment that would pinpoint the problem. 

 The 24/7 vet hospital was out in the suburbs. A big elegant place, designed to impress pet owners like us. The technician took Iko in for a sonogram, and Katja and I left for supper at LaRosa’s. The vet had finished by the time we came back. She said that the earlier X-rays might have looked like a needle in Iko’s abdomen, but, in fact, the sonogram showed that he had two needles and they were embedded in the muscle in his back. She thought the needles might have broken off during vaccinations and been in his back muscle for a long time. They weren’t causing any problems and could stay there forever. She agreed with our neighborhood vet that Iko’s symptoms looked like pancreatitus. She offered to keep him for the night, but it would have cost between $1500 and $2000. Given $800 in bills already, we opted for tender loving care at home. 

 I googled “pancreatitis” on the computer. It scared the wits out of us. While the symptoms appear to be ordinary, it’s an inflammation of the pancreas that can be life-threatening. In the worst cases, the enzymes produced by the pancreas actually begin to digest the pancreas itself, causing extreme pain to the dog and ending in an excruciating death. 

 The vet called the next morning with Iko’s pancreatitus test results. The normal range is 200 or below. Iko’s reading was 1000, the highest the vet had ever seen. He prescribed pills for pain and dehydration and recommended a bland diet of white rice and chicken. The vet said that if Iko’s diarrhea continued, we should take him back to the hospital immediately. 

 We were on pins and needles for a week, but Iko improved a little bit each day, and I’m happy to say that he now seems back to normal. He’s eating a veterinarian-prescribed low-fat diet ($50 a bag), his diarrhea is gone, and he’s pretty much his perky self again. Such a relief. I learned two things from the episode. First, I should stop worrying about spending a lot of money for a pet’s health. It’s worth it. Second, my spouse has better instincts in these matters than I do. 

Love, 

Dave

Winston and the Creatures

DEAR GEORGE, My household project this past month has been to clean up the attic room in which I’ve stored detritus that I’ve accumulated over the past four decades (e.g., 1970s magazines, old encyclopedias, antique photos and postcards). Thousands and thousands of items. What a mess. Most of it is useless, though, now and then, I’ve run across items of sentimental value. One of these is a story I’d written in February 1989 about our Bedlington Terrier Winston and the wild creatures that invaded our house and property. It brought back lots of memories, so I thought I would post it here.

“On a chilly Sunday morning at the beginning of the month we slept late, only to be awakened by Winston’s incessant barking. He was pawing wildly at the bedroom door, and he somehow managed to nudge it open, then dashed headlong down the stairwell. Katja followed him to check out the commotion, and moments later she was screaming uncontrollably from the kitchen. Our next-door neighbor was standing on the back porch with a baseball bat in hand. As Katja sobbed, the neighbor explained that two dogs roaming free had attacked our rabbit hutch to get at our bunnies, Jasper and Moonbeam. The dogs had run off when our neighbor approached, but the rabbits’ hearts had burst, and they lay dead on the floor of the hutch. We buried them solemnly next to the porch and grieved for days.

“Two weeks later Katja came in from the back porch, yelling urgently to me to come downstairs. She pointed out the back door. There on the porch, rummaging about the plastic garbage bags, was a full-grown opossum — an ugly brute, large, almost Winston’s size, with a pale whiskered face and a tail like a rat’s. I thought momentarily about trying to catch him, but the sight of him staring back at me made me nervous, and we left him alone.

“On the following Wednesday night, I was working at my office after Evening College when Katja called on the phone. She was sobbing, and I couldn’t make out her words. Something about Winston. As it turned out, she had stepped out on the porch to walk the dog. The 40-pound bag of dog food had been knocked over, and a large tail was protruding from it. Winston leaped at the intruder, and Katja slipped on the rain-soaked stairs, landing on her arm and back. Before she could recover Winston had the opossum by the neck and was shaking it to and fro. I raced home, and Katja was waiting for me. She explained that Winston had momentarily let go of the animal, and she’d pulled him back into the house. She assumed that the opossum was dead, but, when she looked back out, he had vanished. Winston was banned from our bed for the next two nights.

“Then, yesterday, I heard Katja screaming from downstairs again. (For unknown reasons, I am never at the scene of these events.) Winston was racing madly through the living room, and as I stepped into the foyer, a large bird flew past me and caromed off the front door window. Maybe a starling, I’m not sure. With the dog madly in chase, the bird zoomed through the living room, dining room, kitchen, and back again, bouncing off one window after the next. I tied Winston up and opened the front and back doors. Within a minute our aerial visitor was gone.

“These are, I must say, peculiar and trying times. As a lifelong city-dweller, Katja is a bit undone. Having grown up in the country, I take it more in stride. Winston is stimulated and full of fervor. This February, without question, has been the highlight of his mostly uneventful life. All in all, we’ve mad enough excitement from the wild creatures to last the rest of the year.” LOVE, DAVE

Iko and Li'l Paws

Dear George,

Iko and Li'l Paws are very good sleepers.  Back home in New Orleans they normally get up about 7 a.m., but we retirees have a much more relaxed schedule.  When the dogs first arrived I set the alarm for 9, but soon I discovered that they are content to sleep in till 10 a.m. or later.  Li'l Paws, though the smaller of the two, gets into our bed at night by first jumping up on the cedar chest.  Iko doesn’t try that, and he initially decided to sleep in my closet next to my smelly gym bag.  Then I started lifting him into our bed, and he’s slept there ever since.  He is fascinated with the odor of human breath, and some mornings he climb onto my chest, stretches out so his nose is near my mouth, and naps for another thirty minutes or so.  

Our daughter-in-law K’s sister lives in Northern California, and K and J decided to ride out the coronavirus pandemic there, a wise decision since New Orleans has become one of the nation’s hotspots.  K and the kids flew out in mid-March, and J drove up to Cincinnati to leave the dogs in our care.  This has worked out well.  Though it’s been several years since our sheepdogs died, we still miss them a lot, and Iko and Li'l Paws make “sheltering in place” much more tolerable.  Lots of walks, rough-housing for me, loyal companions, and more laughter around the house.  Among other benefits, my blood pressure dropped from 140/90 to 120/70 shortly after the dogs arrived.  

Iko is a miniature Schnauzer with a sweet personality.  If I remember correctly, I think he was a street dog before he joined J and K’s family.  Compared to our sheepdogs, he’s a little guy.  Twenty inches from nose to butt, 17 inches high at the shoulder, 20 pounds.  I would describe Iko as friendly and mellow.  He bonded with us immediately, likes to growl and play fight, rolling on his back and kicking his legs in the air, and stands with his front paws on my desk chair arm to let me know that I’m spending too much time on the computer.  

Li'l Paws is more feisty even though he’s a pipsqueak compared to Iko — 17 inches long, 12 inches high, 13 pounds.  He’s a Yorkie/Chin mix.  Despite being a tiny little dog, he’s very boisterous, and seems to have a Napoleon complex.  Whenever Iko comes over for some affection, Li'l Paws jumps in front of him and hogs the limelight.  Li'l Paws is also pretty noisy on the street, barking ferociously at all the big dogs and letting them know he is a force to be reckoned with.  He’s always in the lead as we walk, tugging at the leash and pulling me along.  For a thirteen-pounder, Li'l Paws is remarkably powerful.  I think if he were my size he would probably be capable of pulling a freight train.  He also has a thing for ladies underwear, depleting Katja’s wardrobe day by day.  One evening he raced past me in the bedroom and seemed to disappear.  I finally found him underneath our king-sized bed.  He’d absconded with a pair of undies.   I reached in to get them, and Li'l Paws let out a vicious growl and bit my hand, drawing blood.  Remembering that dogs have a wild side, I let him keep his ill-begotten  treasure.

The dogs are very attached to humans.  Katja sleeps in most mornings, and I go down the street to get a loaf of salt rye bread and a cinnamon twist at Graeters.  Iko and Lil Paws station themselves at the kitchen door when I leave, and they are still standing there in the exact same position fifteen minutes later when I return.  When we watch TV, Lil Paws jumps up on the couch between us, and Iko stretches out on the floor at our feet.  If anybody leaves the room, the dogs follow faithfully right behind them.       

Last week when I picked up Graeters pastries Katja was still asleep so I arranged them on paper  plates on our solarium table.  When she woke up, I told her that her cinnamon twist was waiting downstairs.  She went to get it but it wasn’t there.  I discovered that I’d left a chair too close to the table.   A little scoundrel (or maybe two) had gotten up and enjoyed a feast of sweets.  I’m sure that those pastries were bigger than either dog’s stomach, but there wasn’t even a crumb left.

The dogs’ eating habits are strange, to say the least.  With our sheepdogs, we were accustomed to one meal at breakfast time and a second at supper, with the dogs gobbling up their bowls in a minute or two.  Iko and Li'l Paws, though, are on a different regimen.  They share one bowl which is kept full 24 hours a day, and they just take turns eating whenever they feel like it.  Katja refills the bowl every two or three days when it gets low, and, when she puts it down, the dogs give a quick sniff but otherwise show little interest.  Later Li'l Paws might pick up a couple of pellets with his teeth and take them to the next room to chew them up.  Iko eats a bit from the bowl, but rarely more than a mouthful or two.  Despite a never-ending supply of food, the dogs are very casual about eating, and the bowl stays pretty full all day long.  Very mysterious.     

I take the dogs out 4 times a day: 10 a.m., 2 p.m., 6-ish, and 10 p.m.  When I pick up the leashes to get ready to go Iko jumps up and down and barks, and Li'l Paws runs around in tiny   circles.  Li'l Paws always leads the way on the walk, while Iko is more leisurely, stopping to sniff every spot that another dog has been at.  I kept count on a recent walk, and Li'l Paws peed 3 times on our 8-block trip while Iko left his mark 22 times.  Li'l Paws would like to go out more if he could.  Our friend Jennifer stopped by last week, and I let the dogs out on the patio to greet her.  Li'l Paws promptly managed to nudge the patio door open with his nose and took off like a flash.  Jennifer went running after him, and I followed behind, but Li'l Paws was a lot faster than either of us.  He ran behind our garage, up our neighbor’s driveway, down the sidewalk next to busy Ludlow Avenue, then back up the east side of our house.  Lucky for us, he  stopped momentarily in our driveway, and Jennifer yelled, “STAY!!!”  Startled by her authoritative voice, Li'l Paws froze in place and started trembling.  Jennifer scooped him up, and we avoided catastrophe.

J had originally planned to return and pick up the dogs in a week or two, but now it’s hard to tell what the future will bring.  We are happy that our family is in a safer place, and we are having a fine time with our canine visitors.  No one really knows what the next step will be.  We’ll just go with the flow.  So far Iko and Li'l Paws are disinterested in the pandemic.    

Love,

Dave

Baxter Pays a Holiday Visit

Dear George,

Baxter came for a visit when Jennifer and her family took a holiday trip to New Mexico.  Katja, still grieving the loss of our sheepdogs, was wary about having a new dog in the house, but Baxter's smile won her over in a minute.  

I took a lot more healthy walks than I normally do.  Baxter's not that large but he has the strength of a dynamo.  

Baxter hung around with us in the house.  Here he is napping while I fiddle with the computer.

He did remind us when mealtime was approaching.  

Actually Baxter was most interested in human food.  (He gobbled up a bowl of milk chocolates and stole a quarter pound of turkey off the plate while I was eating.) 

Baxter also spent a lot of time staring at doors or walls.  His family speculates that he is standing guard. 

Here he watches Katja blow-dry her hair.  

Or joins Katja to watch Jeopardy on TV.   

Not interested in the Bengals-Steelers game though.   Just as well.   

Baxter gives a big yawn.  

He has a very comfortable bed.  

However, he begged to get into bed with the humans.  

Very hard to resist such a plea.   

Baxter is happy when his dream comes true .

Baxter's family returned last night and he went home.  We do miss him.  But perhaps he will come to visit again in the New Year.  That's a good New Year's wish.
Love,
Dave

Seasons on the Menominee River: A Sestina

Our home on the river sat alone in the forest

Acorns from the great oaks, strewn through the yard

We first got our water from a pump in the driveway 

Four children, a few porcupines, our Irish setter dogs 

Father took us for picnics to Indian Island with our boat

Like the turtles and crayfish, we were denizens of the river 

January brought foot-thick ice on the river 

We crossed to Pig Island, followed deer tracks in the forest

Buried beneath a snowdrift, our beloved green boat

Each new snowfall, barefoot races through the yard  

Ice in their paws, hearts thumping, our brave dogs

Come dark we huddled near the fireplace in the house 

Easter morning, a bunny visit, painted eggs in our house 

Then Chinese Bells Day, clinking ice chunks filled the river

We braved the old road with our bikes and the dogs

Brought our mother blue violets from deep in the forest 

Or dandelions that popped up all over our yard

The arrival of spring, the thrilling launching of our boat 

Summertime, we set off to the channel in the boat

Between river and woods, we barely lived in our house

Steve and I did overnights in a pup tent in the yard 

We constructed a log raft for diving in the river

And I built my camp hidden back in the forest

Forbidden to my family, but welcome to dogs  

Autumn, now cooler, near perfect for dogs

We fished for perch and guppies in the boat

And gathered red and gold leaves from the forest

Ghost stories at the fireplace at night in our house

We’d ended our season of swimming in the river

Replaced it with basketball, touch football in the yard  

All these memories of our house, river, yard

And lingering affection for our long-gone dogs 

Our lives were shaped by growing up on the river

We were pirates on the high seas in our trustworthy boat 

Savored whitefish and meatloaf at suppertime in our house 

Few spots more enticing than our great U.P. forest 

Acorn fights in the yard, expeditions in our boat

Camping with the dogs, playing basketball at our house 
We grew up on the river in the heart of the forest

It's a Dog's Life

“It’s a dog’s life,” I said to my wife

“I’d love to do something like that”

My wife thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie

Although later she gave me a pat

The next day at dawn I was working like a dog

Digging holes and burying my bones

Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks

A dog’s life, so full of unknowns

By day’s end I’d gotten dog tired

The dog house was out in the back

I went in, lay down, and slept like a dog

I dreamt I was out with my pack

“I’d like to run with the big dogs,” I said 

So I went for a jaunt down the street

I was happy as a dog with two tails

Who’d been given a beef jerky treat

I met a cute Yorkie down by the lake

Her puppy dog eyes caused me to sweat

We jumped off the dock, did the doggie paddle

There’s life in the old dog yet

 These were truly the dog days of summer

A respite from the dog eats dog world

Every dog has their day, I would have to say

I stretched out with my tail unfurled

But then a Pit Bull started hounding me

He was meaner than a junk yard dog

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I said

I turned tail and left for a jog

I trotted back home to my family

Who were fighting like cats and dogs

I gave them my dog and pony show

Then I barked a few dog monologues

Hot diggity dog, I was glad to be home

“Dogs”, my mom noted, “are man’s best friend”

This, of course, was a shaggy dog story

Though mom’s love is best in the end

Upset with my absence, my wife got quite crabby

She said now I was in her doghouse

She added, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you”

I’m rarely top dog with my spouse

So that is the story of my life as a dog

Each day I just roam about town

For years it appeared I was going to the dogs

But they can’t keep a good dog down

Cincinnati Zoo Nanny Blakely Retires

Dear George, 

We’ve lost a chum at the Cincinnati Zoo.  After six years of duty as the zoo’s nanny for a wide variety of baby animals, Australian Shepherd Blakely is retiring.  Blakely was recruited for his job when zoo staff visited a local dog shelter to find a dog who would be a gentle caretaker for other animals.  Only eight months old at the time, Blakely fit the bill from the start.   

The zoo’s executive director Thane Maynard explains: “When mom can’t take care of them, they need all the help they can get.  In essence, Blakely is a nursery worker, helping interact and play with baby animals. It’s cute and fun, and yet in terms of those babies growing up, that socialization is an important thing.”

Blakely’s first charge was a tiny cheetah named Savanna.  When Savanna’s brother died, her mother ignored her, and zookeepers put her in the nursery with Blakely.  Blakely responded immediately in a nurturing way, letting Savanna climb all over him, snuggle, and play together.  

When babies don’t know how to eat, Blakely dips his snout into a bowl of milk and lets the baby lick the milk off of his fur.  As the babies get old enough to eat from a food bowl, Blakely teaches them to eat by going to the bowl first, leading the baby to run to it before their big competitor eats up the food.  In his time at the zoo Blakely has taken care of newborns from numerous species: a skunk, cheetahs, a bat-eared fox, a warthog, a takin, an aardvark, brother wallabies, and a baby ocelot.  

Because they were ignored by their mother, Blakely most recently has been taking care of the zoo’s three Malayan tiger cubs: Chira, Batari, and Izzy.  Dawn Strasser, head of the nursery staff, explains: “Blakely is the adult in the room.  He teaches them proper tiger etiquette by checking them when they’re getting too rough or aggressive.  This is something that their human surrogates can’t do.”  As the cubs have grown larger, they’ve outgrown the nursery and their nanny, moving to the Night Hunters building.    

When Blakely’s not on duty, he frequently goes for a walk around the zoo with a staff member, and he’s just as friendly to little kids as he is to the zoo animals.  Last year the City of Cincinnati proclaimed October 19 to be Blakely Day in the city.  In retirement Blakely will go to live on a farm with nursery head, Dawn Strasser.  However, if the occasion arises, he may be called back into nursery duty. 

Love,

Dave

Can Old Dogs Teach Us New Tricks?

Dear George,

We lost our sheepdogs about a year ago, Duffy in June of 2015 and Mike in November.  Despite the passage of time, we’re still recovering — the dogs were such ever-present sources of pleasure.  We do still enjoy sheepdog perks, though, because our good friend Donna owns Sophie,  Mike and Duffy’s younger sister.  When Donna went to Nashville last weekend, Sophie came to stay with us, as she does every now and then.  It was good to have a sheepdog back in the house, and I took lots of pics. 

At thirteen and a half, Sophie is approaching 95 in human years, and she clearly has various infirmities of a senior dog.  One of her eyes is clouded over, and she’s lost about 90% of her hearing.  Getting up from the floor is a struggle, and its’s been a couple of years since she was able to jump into the SUV.  Sophie gets a painkiller for arthritis at bedtime, another pill for a leaky bladder.  At the same time, her basic personality hasn’t really changed since she was a year-old puppy — sweet, frisky, attentive, good-natured.  Overall, Sophie enjoys a high quality of life for her advanced age and continues to be a happy, active dog.  If she were able to talk, Sophie might tell us a lot about the secrets of successful aging.  As far as I can tell, the following are some of the sheepdog lessons about managing old age that we’d be wise to attend to. 

(1) Stay positive.  Despite lots of discomfort, Sophie’s most frequent expression is a happy smile. Her good attitude undoubtedly has many beneficial consequences, physical and psychological. 

(2) Exercise.  Sophie’s healthiness for her age is due at least in part to Donna’s always making sure that she’s gotten plenty of walks.  Because of creaky joints, it takes Sophie longer to get warmed up now, but then she’s good for a mile or two (or actually as long as the humans want to go).   Frequent hikes are the best thing that Sophie does to ward off the ravages of Father Time.

(3) Rest up.  On the other hand, when nothing much is going on, Sophie lies down and nods off in a minute or two.  She is such a good sleeper, and naps are the best for healing aches and pains.   

(4) Drink plenty of water.  Dogs and people get dehydrated when they don’t drink enough, especially in the summertime.  Fortunately, water is Sophie’s forte.  She not only drains much of the bowl but splashes the leftovers onto the kitchen floor.

(5) Persist in the face of obstacles.  Arthritis makes climbing the stairway a laborious process.  Nonetheless, Sophie is always determined to complete the task, systematically putting her front paws up on each successive step, then jumping up with her back paws.  

(6) Take care, watch out.  Going back down the staircase is even more nerve-wracking than climbing up.  Perhaps as a result of previous falls, Sophie is slow and cautious.  It’s a good reminder for the rest of us.   

(7) Make some adjustments.  Our own sheepdogs were always terrified of our mysterious, noisy elevator.  One day, however, Sophie rode with Katja  to the second floor.  Now she routinely leads Katja to the elevator when she wants to go upstairs.   

(8) Be playful.  Sophie has kept her puppy spirit alive over the years.  One of her favorite activities is to walk around the house carrying her beloved stuffed dog.  Then she’ll bring it over for a spirited game of tug-of-war.

(9) Keep track of things.  While we humans go batty from misplacing things, Sophie likes to store her possessions in secret places.  The dining room table offers a perfect hiding spot for her stuffed dog. 

(10) Seek out favorite spots.  Dogs seem to sense that security and feelings of well-being result from being in favorite locations that are familiar and comfortable.  Sophie’s long-time sheepdog bed is her number one place. 

(11) Relish life’s treats.  Mike and Duffy always responded to their routine daily walk around the block as if it were a brand new, exciting adventure.  And food, of course, resulted in pure ecstasy.  Though Sophie’s appetite has declined some, she still gobbles up her meals in a matter of minutes when she’s hungry. 

(12) Stick close to loved ones.  Like her brothers, Sophie is very people-oriented.  She usually hangs out near wherever we’re sitting.  As bedtime draws near, Sophie is the first one into the bedroom, and I help lift her into the bed so she can stake out her position right next to the humans.

(13) Have a good bark every now and then.  Sheepdogs aren’t big barkers.  As she’s gotten older, though, Sophie seems to enjoy barking loudly when I lean over and wave my hands.  It’s a friendly, enthusiastic bark and seems to be giving voice to all her inner exuberance. Barking is good for the soul — we all need to bark a little more.  

I don’t know if we’ll ever be ninety-five, but, if we are, I hope we’re able to do as well as Sophie.  There’s a lot to be learned from the mysterious sheepdog world. 

Love,

Dave