Youth, capturing the world
Vision without knowledge
Expectations unbridled
Life there for the taking
Decisions, randomly made
Actions, indiscriminately taken
Results, swept into reality
The future, changed without recourse
But age challenges paradigms
Experience, embraces the psyche
Challenges your decisions
Conclusions held now suspect
Time inserts it’s wisdom
Questions your visions
Again met with younger eyes
After your day is gone
Recently one of my friends (not both of them) asked me if i talked to my dog. Now, he isn’t owned by a dog, so I cut him a little slack for that. His question was sincere, clueless, but sincere.
“Of course I do” I said. “Every dog that has a person communicates with and tolerates their person”. But, it is a personal thing. Not every dog and the person they adopted speak the same language. Well, the word ‘speak’ is probably a misnomer. They really address each other with sign language unless, of course, they have been to school. Then, that is a whole new ballgame. The owner really is in charge and the canine companion is ready to respond.
Now, let’s get back to reality. The normal relationship between most pets and their family transcends mutual respect. I’m sure if you have a dog, you know where I’m coming from. Owning a dog is a humbling experience. It’s similar to arm wrestling an octopus. You are not going to win.
But, if you pay attention, learn the signals, make the appropriate moves, provide the expected attention and provisions, you may possibly be accepted by your faithful companion. If you are doing the right stuff, they will let you know. If not, they will let you know that too.
Let me give you an example. I was adopted by a 14 pound pekinese that I named Kramer. He, unlike other dogs I have had, does not ask to go out. Actually, he doesn’t ask to do anything. He just stares at me without flinching.
Did you ever have a feeling that someone was watching you? Well that’s Kramer. I sense it before I realize I am being surveilled, whereupon, it is up to me to figure out what ‘the look’ means.
That is when I am expected to ask relevant questions. “Do you have to go pee”? ” Do you want to sit up here with me”? “Do you want to go for a walk?”. It’s kind of ‘Doggie Bingo”. Land on the right spaces and you my win. It takes a lot of skill to master the interface. Not his, mine. I know that I do not run this household. The problem is, he knows it too.
Tonight, after snoozing in his (yes his) chair, exactly at 10:00 PM, he will amazingly wake up, look at me, jump down and go to bed. You see, we used to go to bed around 11:00 together, but he has yet to embrace daylight savings time. He believes it will come around.
The other day I was thinking about this communication thing because we really do seem to be on the same wavelength, without the need of verbal interface. I have learned when he wants to go out, when he wants to eat, what he likes to eat, when he wants to get up on the chair next to me, when he is going to go to bed, when he expects some treats, and most importantly, when he wants to curl up in my lap, when suddenly, all of the above is irrelevant.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming, but I am not surprised. Over the years, I have been guilty of that on many occasions. It seems I have a proclivity for staring at the sunset while everyone else is focused on the sunrise.
It began one morning when I suddenly saw the signs of aging. Up until then, I was still mentally living, it would seem, in yesterday. Like a child that proudly announces “I am almost six”, I was wandering around stating “I’m almost eighty seven”. I used the age thing as a badge of honor because, I apparently look younger and a lot of people are surprised. Needless to say, I don’t have a lot going for me other then my age so any opportunity to receive even a modicum of recognition has been heartily embraced.
But I am old. By any set of statistics, I am old. I prefer to think of it as extended maturity, but, it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still old.
So, to deal with the phenomenon, I had to rationalize between where I am and where I feel I am by comparing ‘being old’ and ‘feeling old’. Specifically, does physical age determine who I am. In that respect, I determined that was up to me. We’ve all heard the phrase ” you are only as old as you feel”. Well, I’m beginning to think that you are also only as old as you look.
Many people, upon meeting me, say they can’t believe I am eighty six. Ether can I. So that says to me, ‘you are as old as you are perceived to be’, and I am beginning to believe that. Recently when arriving for a medical appointment, when my name was called, the medical assistant said ‘you’re not at all what I expected’. I didn’t pursue that any further. I just assumed that I looked better then the norm.
But here’s the deal. Age, I think, is what YOU think it is. Years are not negotiable, but your perception is. If I want to feel like I am in my sixty’s again, that is up to me. The fun part is pulling it off.
“It’s not how old you are. It’s how you are old.
Jules Renard
She walked though the door of the shelter not sure why she was there. She had seen a dog on their facebook page that had kind of said he needed her. She knew that was stupid. She knew that he couldn’t see her or even know she existed. And, of course, that she didn’t know anything about him either. She was there on impulse. It had been something in his eyes. As he stared at the camera, it was as if he were searching for something. He looked lost.
She had lost her dog about a year ago. They had been together since he was a pup. He finally crossed the rainbow bridge at the age of twelve.She was and is still devastated. She is single and lives alone. He was her family. He actually was her everything. He was always there. When he finally had to go, her life became empty. No one to look to her for breakfast, walks, or just cuddles on the couch. When he was still with her she used to muse how much he needed her. Once he was gone she realized how much she had needed him.
She stood in the lobby of the shelter having second thoughts. The guilt she felt was so strong she fought the impulse to turn and leave. “How could I ever replace him”she thought. Feelings of betrayal flooded her thoughts. She had loved him so much and here she was, looking at another dog. What is wrong with me she thought?
“Hello, may I help you” the young girl behind the counter inquired?
No, maybe, yes. Um, I called about a dog named Travis. I just thought I’d, you know, like to see him. I’m not really here to adopt. I just wanted to know more about him. Is he still here.
“He is” she said, He is such a sweetheart. He is a surrender because of the death of his person. He doesn’t know why he is here and why his person isn’t coming for him. He keeps looking for them. It’s so sad because he is ten and most people don’t want a dog that old so he will probably be here for quite a while. Plus there’s no telling how he would adapt to a new family. Do you still want to see him?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so” she said, her mind racing. She really wasn’t sure because she was afraid he might have separation issues. What if he couldn’t forget his previous home or accept a new one because of that.
They walked down the corridor until they reached his kennel. There he was . Curled up in a corner of his kennel, waiting. She felt an immediate bond. They looked at each other and it was as if they instantly knew what the other was experiencing. She bent down slowly and quietly spoke to him.She didn’t even know what she said, she just needed to let him know she knew he was hurting and she was a friend.
The tears traced a trail down her cheeks as he slowly rose and walked to the front on his kennel. She tentatively pushed her fingers through the metal grate. He stared at her, then sniffed and licked them.
That’s when she knew that they were dealing with a similar loss. Someone they loved had left them alone and both were trying to figure out why. Their lives were suddenly without someone that they had loved and had been loved by in return.She realized that by adopting him, she would not be trying to replace the dog she had lost, but instead, trying to restore the love she still had to give. She thought, in his own way, he was trying to do the same thing.
“I’ll take him ‘she said.
“I didn’t think you were here to adopt” the volunteer said.
“I didn’t think I was either” she said softly. But sometimes things happen that we don’t expect, or can even explain. It appears we have both loved and lost through no fault of our own. I guess I just think we both deserve a second chance”.>
Hello all my faithful friends. Kramer here. I just wanted to check in and, because I know you miss me when I don’t, let you know everything is OK here. Not great, but OK. No, nothing is wrong. Nothing I can fix anyway. I knew it would happen. It happens every year. It’s called WINTER. Yeah, those of you north of the Carolina’s know exactly what I am talking about. The rest of you I will let imagine what it must be like to be a 10 inch tall dog in a six inch plus snowstorm.
I, well Bob, have friends in Kentucky who, and one name comes to mind immediately, believe that winter should last only several hours, be snow free and be devoid of chilly breezes and temperatures below 60. On the surface, a lot of that sounds pretty good to me too. But then I think, where is the challenge in that? When we finally retreat into the Great Kennel in the sky, what have we really accomplished?Thankfully, we are about to ski into March, not that there is any real joy in that either. March is like a testy person that feels it has been mistreated and wants to take revenge. It is a composite of Winter and Spring, with Mother Nature pulling the strings. Now I know why bears hibernate.
But hey. Enough about that. Let’s talk about me. Monday, I will go for another groom. My stylist will remove my winter coat and once again expose my natural beauty. I wish she could do something for Bob, but that’s another story, and challenge. He is just getting over pneumonia, so I guess it is what it is.
That’s about it until next time, hopefully in a time of warmth, perhaps while I am basking in he sun in my speedo while partaking of a Pup Cup, we will meet again. Until then please remember there are a lot of dogs out there that are still without a home, just waiting for someone like you to give them a chance to have what I have. A home, a family, and love that will be abundantly returned.
See ya
Kramer
Your favorite Pekinese
P.S. About that love being abundantly returned thing, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Bob. I’ve got it pretty good at the moment and I wouldn’t want to increase his expectations.
Encircled by the snap of the drivers whip, snorting horses, and a cloud of dust, the stagecoach jerked to a halt in front of the towns only hotel, the Western Belle. From the coach stepped two men dressed in suits that immediately identified them as having come from the east. While the driver began unloading their luggage, they surveyed their surroundings.
The town, named Lost Falls California was nothing more then a wide spot in the road with businesses providing the necessities of life lining both sides of the street. It was definitely a community in decline, but that was to be expected. The year was 1872 and the gold rush that had created this and other towns just like it, had ended going on twenty years ago. But, that is exactly why they were here. Logic told them that all those miners had not found all the gold. There was more to be had, and they planned to find it. There were hundreds of mine claims that had been staked out and today, you could buy them for pennies on the dollar, and, after months of poring over the available geography, that is what they had done. Tonight, they would purchase a meal and a room and tomorrow, they would begin their quest for gold.
As the morning sun peeked over the horizon, the partners procured two horses and headed out to observe their claim. Upon arriving, and having determined their immediate needs, they returned to town and began to inquire into hands for hire. They anticipated they would require four men. However, they quickly found that there was a shortage of labor. Most miners has long since left and those that remained weren’t too interested. After a long morning of searching, they had only managed to find three men that appeared capable of handling the rigors of mining. The only other person that was interested in a job had been a rather frail china-man named Wing-Ho who, while willing to work, didn’t seem to have the muscle they were looking for. But, given the circumstances, they decided he may be able to perform other tasks that would allow the miners to concentrate on digging for gold. Reluctantly, they hired him and decided that they would put him in charge of maintaining the necessary supplies.
The next morning, the crew rode out to the mine and, using the advice of the miners as to needs, prepared a list. They agreed that Wing-Ho would be responsible for supplies. With that, the owners rode back to town, purchased a wagon and a draft horse and visited the hardware store for all the products needed.
It was mid afternoon when they returned to the mine. Greeted by the miners, they asked where Wing-Ho was as they wanted him to participate in unloading the wagon so he could get a feel for the needs of the workers. They said they hadn’t seen him since that morning when the owners left.
Somewhat dismayed they decided he must have decided to quit so they began to unload the wagon themselves. One of the owners grabbed a bunch of shovels and pickaxes and proceeded into the mine. After only a short distance however, he was startled when Wing-Ho jumped out of the darkness, waving his arms and yelling “Supplies”.
OK, it’s an old joke, but I’ll bet you didn’t see it coming. “Supplies”.
Just another night. The only sound created by his footsteps. Surrounded by darkness, he slowly walked through the warehouse that he patrolled every night. Shining his flashlight on any point of entry, he proceeded throughout the area. As his thoughts wandered, he mused that, if anyone wanted to become invisible, being a night security guard would qualify. You could immediately dismiss human interface. Actually any interface other than invasive.
Time and misfortune had brought him to tonight. He was here not by desire, but purely because circumstances had left him no choice and it bothered him. He was better then this. His education, training, and background was in information technology, another somewhat solitary endeavor, but one in which he was able to create. Able to show others his ability to make improvements in their lives. And therein was the problem.
The company for which he worked prior to coming here, had been a startup . They were new to IT and so was he. He had never been happier. But, what you built was only important if you could sell it. And when the product didn’t find an audience, the company folded and he was forced to find something, anything, to provide for himself.
This job was to tide him over until he could find something in his world. He had no desire to wander around a dark warehouse in the middle of the night. In fact, truth be known, he was a little intimidated by the isolation he felt. The darkness overwhelming him in a way.
His job was to assure that nothing happened. That included investigating any hint of a movement, or a sound. And that, being his primary responsibility, he was sensitive to his environment. Most nights, his shift was silent. But, the last few shifts had provided sounds he had not heard before., His flashlight had not discovered any signs of a break in, but the sounds, however muted, persisted. Could it be rats? Possibly.
As he ventured throughout the warehouse this evening, he was keen to all sounds, much more then during his previous shifts. Slowly he walked his normal path, but tonight, he found himself stopping after several steps, listening, waiting. He again heard it. A muffled sound. Distant, as if hiding. Perhaps it is a rat he decided. Slowly he approached, fear creeping within him. His light his only means of determining what or who was hiding in the dark, waiting to confront him.
He moved slowly, stealthily forward, reacting to any sound. His hair stood up on his neck and he began to sweat.. He knew he was about to confront something and, being unarmed, feared what it might be. Then he again heard it, only this time, it sounded like a growl. Not vicious, but more of a warning. He, choked back his fears, broadcast his light throughout the area before him, and, at one point, confronted a pair of glowing eyes.
Fear immediately overtook him. His initial instinct was to retreat. The growl was low and appeared to be sending a message. Not so much aggressive as defensive. Mustering up as much courage as possible, he inched his way forward, every muscle in his body on edge. Once again a growl, this time a little louder. Slowly turning his light toward the sound, he cast his beam upon the intruder, discovering a frightened scraggly little dog, doing it’s best to sound intimidating.
Relief overtook him. He found himself in the company of a little stray dog that, while being not very big, had learned how to take care of herself. No one on the day shift had indicated that there was anything out of the ordinary which said to him that she apparently remained hidden during the day, waiting for the security of darkness. Further investigation revealed a small break in the tin wall that surrounded the building. A way for her to leave while foraging, and returning at night to safety. He knew from her reaction that his presence was threatening, so he backed off.
He could not get her out of his mind. He spent the next day worrying about her. He found himself anxiously awaiting the time when he would begin his next shift, hoping against hope that she would still be there, safe from the dangers that existed during the day. He had never considered himself an animal person, but he saw in this little dog a will to protect that which had become her security. He could relate, having lost his.
Before his next shift began, he prepared a little bag of food and, grabbing an old plastic bowl, stuffed them in his backpack. He then filled his thermos with water instead of coffee, and went to work. As the day shift left, he waited for his first opportunity to enter the warehouse, alone. Following his normal course, he found himself anticipating his venture into the area where he had found her. Upon arriving, he again heard the now familiar growl. Removing his backpack, he poured some of the water into the bowl and placed some of the food next to it, hoping to encourage her to come out by leaving her alone.
Throughout the night, he found himself visiting that area more frequently then normal. As time passed, no one came forward, but he was heartened by the fact that the water and food were gone.. Only the growling gave evidence of her presence. A little disheartened, he left and continued his rounds. At least, he thought, she had something to eat.
The next evening he again arrived with food and water, but, when arriving at the location, became concerned that he did not hear a growl. In fact, he heard nothing. Shining his light into the secluded spot, he saw her, watching him, as if not sure if she should trust him or not. He decided to take a chance and cautiously moved closer, slowly lowering himself into a sitting position on the floor . She, did not move, alert but allowing him to somewhat invade her space. He saw this as a possible breakthrough. He began talking to her in a low encouraging voice while sitting very still, tossing her occasional doggie treats. She watched his every move as if trying to decide between fear and trust.
As the nights passed, he noted that she was becoming more comfortable with his presence, allowing him to sit a little closer each time. He began to worry about what might happen if she decided to venture out into the warehouse during the day. It was busy, forklifts moving rapidly throughout the facility. Activity everywhere. And what if she were discovered. What then? He knew he couldn’t let that happen. That was when he decided that, if she would let him, he had to take her home.
The next day he arrived early for his shift. The warehouse was already dark so he proceeded to her hideout. He had an idea and hoped it would work. Speaking softly, he kneeled down and reached his hand slowly toward her. Hesitantly, she sniffed it and after a through check, gave it a tentative lap. He repeated this throughout his shift until she appeared to accept it, ultimately allowing him to pat her head.
The next day he was restless. Afraid, so afraid that someone on the day shift might discover her. When his shift began, he had trouble restraining himself from going directly to her hiding place, but upon doing so, he found her waiting for him, He was heartened to see that she allowed him to approach her, slowly, and accepted his pats. It was time, he decided,. If she would approve, he would move her to his apartment. So he spent as much time with her as possible, and at the end of his shift, made a final visit. However, this time, he reached over and gently picked her up. She stiffened, struggling a little to be set free but he continued to hold her and talk to her and stroke her until she relaxed slightly as if her instincts told her it was going to be alright.
He named her Cleo after Cleopatra because she quickly became the queen of his apartment and, it would seem, his life. Suddenly he found himself looking forward to the new day. He had a new responsibility now and it gave him something he had lost somewhere along the way, and that was a drive to recover what he had lost. He only had to look at the courage of Cleo to understand he was responsible for himself. If he wanted a better life, it was up to him to provide it. It’s funny, he mused, how we often set out to help another and end up helping ourselves.
We moved to Gray Maine twenty two years ago, about six months before we even knew it existed. We were living in Louisville KY at the time but had been a resident of Maine before, as newly weds, striking out to make our fortune. Once my wife and I left Maine, it didn’t take long for us to realize that we would always want to go back, and we did so, after spending years in other states and cities. We had a general idea of where we wanted to settle but nothing specific. Our criteria was to settle into a small town that was within ambulance distance of professional medical care since we were now retired and didn’t plan on moving again.
We had a great realtor who knew Southern Maine well and kept us informed of homes for sale in the communities surrounding Portland, most of them on our ‘possible towns’ list. He was the one that sent me data and pictures of a home in Gray. It was not on our radar, but it was only twenty miles north of Portland and met most of our criteria. I came, I saw, and we bought.
Where am I going with this. Well, it has to do with identity. As you all know most cities have an identity beyond their official name. Chicago is ‘The Windy City’. Boston is ‘Bean Town’. New York is ‘The Big Apple’. Everyone knows that. But what they don’t realize is that every small town in America also has a perceived identity. My town has one too. As you pull off the Maine turnpike you are confronted by a cemetery, in front of which is a large sign that says “Gray Maine. In The Heart Of It All”.
Rest assured that we did not move here to be in The Heart Of It All. In fact, after all these years, I am not sure what we are in the heart of. Maine is a big state geographically, and we are definitely not in the heart of it. Bangor maybe, but not us. However, apparently, someone in our town government has recently decided they didn’t know either so they created a committee to address the issue, and after much discussion, they asked the residents which of their three choices we had to select from. Well, that apparently didn’t go over too well. They were all bad, and apparently the population suggested that.
Today, I received another email from the committee with a new survey asking us to pick our choice of two finalists. One was the current “In The Heart Of It All” and the other was “All Roads Lead To Gray. However, to their credit that also included an option to suggest a phrase of your own. I suspect they will receive several and I hope they are civil. No guarantees there.
Anyway, it is in the hands of the committee now, which reminds me why I never volunteer to join committees. I’ll be curious what we end up with. I’m sure it will drive a multitudes of people anxious to move here. Maybe not. We’ll see.
P.S. My suggestion was “A Town For All Seasons” Just sayin.
I was making the bed this morning when I heard an unusual sound out on the street. It was a motor vehicle of some sort, but not the normal sound of a truck, or car, or even a snow plow. Looking out a window I saw a large road grader with a couple of plows attached on the right side making a turn into my street. Now, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have given it another thought. Our town does an amazing job of making sure our roads are cleared. However, we have not had snow for over a week, which was quickly dispatched into snowbanks when it happened. So, I had to supervise the activity. It appeared the equipment had two plow blades mounted on the right side, one elevated and one at ground level and they were taking the top off of the existing snowbanks while also pushing them back, in effect widening the street.
My first thought was ‘there are my tax dollars at work’. Why would they be pushing the snowbanks back a week after they had created them. It seemed like a little overkill. I went back to making the bed, mulling over the wisdom of the activity. I guess it was mid morning when my phone posted another Winter Weather Advisory. Tomorrow we will probably get another 3 to 6 inches of snow and it all started to make sense. Up here, February can be very unpredictable and March is always a crap shoot.
I can’t say I look forward to another round of snow, especially since we have just encountered several days of single digit temperatures which precluded any melting of what snow we already had. But, that’s Maine, and 6 inches is not that big a deal. I guess it is just that time of the year that we are ready to move on. Let it all melt so we can welcome mud season.
I went out this afternoon and filled the snowblower with fuel just in case. A 6 inch snow may not mean much to me, but I have a dog with 4 inch legs and that creates a little problem for him. If the weatherman can be trusted I will have to save his butt yet again tomorrow. In the meantime, we will both hang out somewhere in the proximity of the fireplace. If there is an upside to winter up here it is that it gives me a reason to light it up and curl up in my recliner, with Kramer of course. Kind of makes me a little more thankful that I live in an environment where every day can be a surprise.
I’m back!!! Hello again my faithful friends. I know it as been a long time, but, as I have often said, ‘good things are worth waiting for’. In my case that would be things like chewy treats and, of course, your adoration. I want you to know I have not intentionally neglected you. No, I wlll be seven years old next month, and have joined the nations workforce. Specifically, I have become a mobile security service, protecting both Bob and his car.
As time has passed, we have both realized that, weather permitting, I would much rather wait for him in the car, then be left at home. However, it didn’t take too long to realize that my handsome self would draw people to the windows of the car saying things like “Oh look, he is sooo cute” or “look at the cute puppy”. I didn’t mind the admiration because I knew they couldn’t help themselves, but I didn’t appreciate them hanging around my car. I could be curled up in my car seat, sawing some zzzz’s and they would come up and stare at me or even knock on the window. That is when I decided I was there for a specific reason, and that was to protect me and the car from these lovelorn spectators. It was one thing to be admired, but quite another to be respected.
So, I took it upon myself to provide the security that was so lacking in Bob’s life. I mean, the instinctive tendencies born within me would kick in and I would immediately morph into defensive mode growling and snapping at the window. They didn’t have to know that I only have 6 teeth. Bob was at first concerned, but after talking to his vet, decided that what I was doing was normal. I mean, I don’t exhibit aggressive tendencies when I am not confined. In fact, I have been accused of being a fluff muffin. I can’t say I am crazy about the type cast, but it does get me a lot of attention and recognition and a few treats.
I mentioned my car seat which, while being very comfortable unto itself, also elevates me enough to see out the windows. But, thanks to Bob I now have a shag heating pad that fits in that seat so I can now accompany him on cold days, coat included of course. It maintains a temperature of 82 and plugs into a power pack so he doesn’t have to leave the car running. In the summer, he also added a portable fan that also runs off the same power pack and blows directly on my car seat. How many dogs can say that?” I know, you are probably thinking this is all a little overkill, or worse, that Bob is a little weird. Just between you and me, you may be right in both cases. Personally, I prefer to believe that he holds me in the same esteem that I hold myself.
Well, I guess that’s about it for now. Just wanted to drop back in and say woof. Depending on the way the rest of the winter goes, I may be able to interrupt my busy schedule sometime in the future and send you another update. Until then remember, there are still a lot of other dogs out there that are still looking for a forever home. They may not all be as smart as I am but I guarantee they are every bit as ull of love. You won’t be sorry.
Take care. Your favorite pekinese
Kramer
oldmainer 