It's A Dogs Life

I’m right around 70 years old, give or take a year or two. It’s really hard to say actually. When my human tells others my age he always says, around 10 or so. That’s 10 in people years. I never quite understand what they mean by that. You know, why is there a difference between how old I say I am and how old my human says. I can’t let stuff like that bother me though, hell, I’m still trying to figure out why I’m eating out of a bowl on the floor and he gets to use all kinds of weird utensils.

I grew up in southern California and spent some time in the northern part of the state too. A few years ago my human and I got in the car and drove for what seemed like forever and ended up in Florida. I don’t quite get what happened but I think I was in a nice size family before he and I left. I don’t remember who was there but I seem to remember a few other folks that would feed me and rub my belly and stuff like that.

Living with this guy hasn’t been bad. I’m well taken care of and he understands all my little quirks. That’s important in a relationship like ours. He takes care of me and I don’t bark, bite, tear through the trash or mess up the house.

I tell you what’s weird, this snow stuff. I don’t know about you but I’ve never seen such a thing. I have spent the better part of the last six months getting the backyard the way I like it, you know, go to the bathroom in this part, lay around and do nothing in that part. Well that’s all blown to hell. I can’t see or smell anything back there. It’s tough on an old girl like me. I can’t just get up and go anywhere; I need some familiarity in my restroom habits.

He does take good care of me though. He’s always talking to me and petting me. I really love to lay behind the lounge chair when he’s in it watching television. Once in a while I forget how long my body is and when he puts the chair back it’ll hurt my stomach. I don’t always say something, it’s nice just to be there with him and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

When we first left California, we lived in Florida for the first year alone. I liked it, he would make sure he came home from work to get me outside and I enjoyed the apartment we were living in. we had nice neighbors and there was a little boy right next door who would play with me when he was gone too long. I used to see all kinds of different animals down there. I remember once, when we were out in the morning, we saw a really weird looking thing come out of the bushes. He called it an armadillo. He was as surprised as I was at seeing it. I wanted to go talk to it but he wouldn’t let me. Something about our safety. I know he wouldn’t do anything that would allow me to get hurt. I kinda like that. I’m sure he knows that if I had the ability I’d protect him in any way possible too.

We had his daughter live with us for a while but she just moved back to her Mother’s house in California a couple days ago. She was nice and I’ll miss her. I’m not real keen on why she left but he was pretty upset about whatever her reason was. They’ve been really close for as long as I can remember. They even kind of look alike.

Things aren’t always so wonderful around here. He usually leaves in the morning and comes home in the late afternoon leaving me alone for hours on end. He leaves the television on for me and that’s nice. For some reason he thinks I like the Weather Channel. I don’t know where he got that. Like I can do anything about it let alone that it in no way effects my life in any way. Well, at least he tries.

There is one thing in this life that totally baffles me and maybe you can help me understand it. In the room where he gets his food there’s this big white box with two doors. Sometimes when he opens it he brings me this treat that’s so cold and creamy, it’s just to die for. He calls it dog ice cream; I call it heaven on earth. I totally understand about the box keeping things cold and all. My question is, how can I get me some more of this wonderful treat that I only get, at most, once a day. Let me know if you can help.

Anyway, I guess I’m at the older end of the age range when it comes to dogs and I know that I have, at best, three to five more years and that’s if I don’t get sick. When I go I know I’ll miss him and he will miss me. I hope he gets another dog after I’m gone; he really likes having me around. It gives him someone to talk too. I’m kinda afraid that he would talk out loud even if I wasn’t here and I’d hate to see him look as nuts as that.

One More Day

Karen called me the other day to tell me that Mitch Albom was on Oprah, and knowing I liked reading his stuff, thought I would like to see the show. I switched the channel and caught him. He was on because his book “One More Day” was turned into a television movie and they had a show about the concept. Of course it got me thinking.

I think if I could have one more day with someone that is no longer living it would have to be my Grandfather. I’ve written of him before in the essay entitled, “The Carter Family”, and if you’ve read it you know how close the two of us were.

I think I would want to see him before he had his stroke, he was obviously much more vibrant at that time. I’d like to wake up at his house and let him make coffee and toast like he used to and after putting the unsalted whipped butter on the toast, he’d take the salt shaker and salt it anyway. Of course the coffee, for me, would be one part coffee and about 15 parts milk. We’d then put two saccharine tablets in it and breakfast would be served.

We’d then get into, at that time, his yellow Impala and drive the few miles to “the building”. It was pretty much a city block he owned that had stores on the ground floor and apartments on the top. We’d go to the basement to, as he would say, “check the pipes” and he’d have something to feed all the alley cats that hung around. We’d then go upstairs to one of the apartments to visit Mrs. Evans, an older woman who rented from him, and we’d sit and talk for a while.

When we were done there he’d take me down to “Vince’s”. It was a barbershop down the block from the building. I’d get in the chair and get a “regular boys haircut” while Vince and Grampa would talk about nothing in particular. He’d always let me get a soda out of the machine Vince had and I always liked that.

Grampa and I would then head down to Carters Hamburgers to get, as he would say, “a hamburger sandwich and fried potatoes. I’d get mine plain with ketchup and his always had a big slice of white onion on his. We’d eat and talk about nothing and we were both in hog heaven.
After lunch we would usually go shopping, maybe new shoes or a winter coat and I’d just take all this for granted because it was all I’d know. You never realize what you had until it’s gone. Well, my youth and Grampa are both gone now but if I could have just one more day I’d do just as I stated above.

The only difference would be that I would be the age I am now. The scenario above was a typical day for he and I before I had started going to school. I would want Grampa to see who and what I’ve become and I think I would understand him a lot better too. I’d want to tell him how much he meant to me as a child and still means to me to this very day. Of course I would tell him I love him and miss him.
It’s quite a concept, this one more day thing. I think everyone can come up with an answer to the question of whom you’d want to see again. It’s kind of bittersweet isn’t it?

It's That Time Again

So here we are again. It’s Holiday season. I wrote last year about how I dislike this time of year for numerous reasons and I still feel that I would not miss it a bit if these special days were somehow cancelled or I was placed into a coma for the entire month of December.

I know that this time of year also means a whole lot to most people and I can appreciate that. I actually have a great deal of empathy for those whose holidays are somehow not what they would want. I think we all feel that way about the obvious cases, the poor, the hungry, the ill and those who may have lost someone close to them. My ex-wife lost her brother to cancer in early December a number of years ago and I can assure you that Christmas time is a much more bittersweet time for her and her family than they ever thought it would be all those years ago.

I think it’s real important that now, more than ever, we think of those who can’t be here during this time even though they would like to be. I’m speaking of the soldiers stationed around the world. Whether you agree with the war effort or not you have to feel for these people’s families.

Yes, I know, this is an all volunteer military. That fact, however, doesn’t take away from the idea that there are many children involved who may have a real hard time believing in Santa Claus when Mommy or Daddy can’t be home on Christmas morning because they’re overseas participating in the war effort. Yes, I know I’ve stated it before, but isn’t this whole thing really all about the kids?

My suggestion. If by chance you know anyone who has a family member in the military, check and see if there may be something you can do to help make this a special time for the children. If you don’t know of any military families, check the local fire station and see if they are collecting toys for kids. I mentioned in a previous post about a family my store adopted for the Holidays a few years ago. Check with your church or other local charities and see if you might be interested in that.

When I was younger my Mother belonged to a Jewish woman’s group that gathered toys for local Jewish families and at one time I was asked to deliver them. She gave me the addresses that each bag would go to and off I went. One of the addresses she gave me was obviously wrong as I found myself in an area of Detroit that, I was pretty sure, wasn’t part of the charity drive. As I went up to the house to see if by chance I was wrong I decided the only way was to knock on the door and ask.

The man who answered the door was about 30 years old, African American, and had a cross around his neck. He had three little ones with him who couldn’t have been older than five and, by the look on his face; they were really getting on his nerves. Being the overly intelligent guy that I am, I quickly deduced that this man was not on the list of poor Jewish families. I asked him if he had ever heard of B’nai Brith, the group my mother belonged to, and he said he’d never heard of them.

So there I was, standing on some stranger’s porch in the inner city of Detroit with a bag full of toys and some stranger staring at me like I was some kind of idiot. I looked down at one of the kids, a little girl, holding on to her father’s leg staring at me.

Obviously there was only one thing I could do. I looked at the man and asked if he could use some extra presents to put under the tree. He replied with something like “who wouldn’t”. I then explained what my actual mission was for the day and that I couldn’t see how this could, in any way, not be thought of as part of said mission. I handed him the bag, shook his hand and bid him a Merry Christmas.

I got back in my car, lit up a joint, sorry mom, and started the drive home. The whole way home all I could think of was how cool what I had just done was. I knew in my heart that I had just done something that would help those kids have a good Holiday and the idea that I gave the toys to the wrong family didn’t bother me a bit. I gave it to a family that could use it, and to me, it was the right family. Not to pat myself on the back or anything but, not bad for a 17-year-old stoner.

I’m no longer 17 and far from being considered a stoner but I went to one of the local toy stores last Tuesday and bought a couple toys. I took them to one of the local churches by the house and asked if they might find use for them. Even us grinch type folks can get a bit of the season into our cold hearts. Enjoy your Holidays everybody, be nice to each other.