When Dogs Make Humans Better People

Why can't I play with the big dogs?

Proof that many dog owners are wonderful human beings: I met a woman at Ironwood Park who was sitting near a walker, one of those wheeled contraptions that help people perambulate.  She explained that her legs were giving her some difficulties and it caused her real pain to walk.

She arrived at the park at approximately the same time each morning, met another woman with two cute black-and-white Shih Tzus.  The Shih Tzu owner then took the small dog belonging to the woman with the walker out for a three-leash, long stroll, giving exercise to a dog loved by an almost crippled woman.  When humans aren’t killing each other, they can be so nice.

Did you ever notice when you blow in a dog's face he gets mad at you? But when you take him in a car he sticks his head out the window! 
~ Steve Bluestone

Golf Carts Losing Weight

      Sighted during our walk:  Two people in golf carts with their dogs in the carts next to them.  They were going towards Ironwood Park: neither humans nor dogs were getting exercise.   And the golf cart would weigh exactly the same at the end of the outing as it did in the beginning.

“You can say any fool thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, "My God, you're right! I never would've thought of that!"  – Dave Barry

Gizmo's new "to do" list: 4 am -- time to bark

  Last night Gizmo barked loudly at 4 am.  I got up because I thought perhaps he was warning us about an impending earthquake.  He was not.

(Neither were the goldfish, which Grace placed in her kitchen over a decade ago after she learned that they would leap out of their bowl if an earthquake were about to happen.  Unfortunately, she put the bowl on top of the refrigerator, which regularly shaked when it was adjusting the coldness.  The goldfish had several nervous breakdowns after we found them flopping atop the refrigerator many mornings.  They did not see a therapist even though we were living at the time in Mill Valley, the national capital of therapists.

Figuring he was desperate to go to the bathroom and feeling sorry for him because that could have been me, I let him out the back door.  He ran over the bridge, dashed on to the path, zipped all the way through it and returned to the back door, happy, tail wagging, joyous.  4 am is NOT a time to be joyous.

I put him back in the cage and he slept through what was left of the night.

The next night, beginning again at 4 am, he barked.  This time I got up, walked to his cage, said “NO” and “BAD DOG” in no uncertain terms.  Reaction: not even a little chagrinned.

So I got up, opened the computer and worked on the blog.  I was fully awake, possibly because of the infusions to combat the Multiple Myeloma (bone marrow cancer) that is currently in a lock box and being successfully battled to a happy draw.  Thank you, Dr. James Berenson of Los Angeles.

One side effect of the steroids I take is that I am wide awake at odd times, which does lead to sending some strange answers in my email.

Every 15 minutes, sometimes less, Gizmo would awaken, bark, yip or whine.  I would stop what I was doing, go to him, say “No” and “Bad Dog” and pound on his cage in the hopes of associating Gizmo’s noises with bad sounds, results, etc.   This wrestling match continued until 6:45, meaning I went to him at least ten times.

4 pm, NOT 4 am

It is now 6:50 am, I am still writing, but Gizmo is quiet, perhaps asleep.  Sunrise is just beginning.  Maybe I have taught him something.  Maybe I have “won.”  But it doesn’t feel like victory.  It feels like a long slog.  Perhaps it was a draw because I feel like going to sleep.

“If you don't want your dog to have bad breath, do what I do: Pour a little Lavoris in the toilet.”     Jay Leno

Apres Bath

          After his bath, thanks to the caring people at Petco, Gizmo prances around as if he knows that, whether or not he thinks he smells good, he looks really great.  He has become, if not a show dog, at least one that could win Best of Mutt. 

             Of course, the first thing he wants to do is run up to the path and begin digging in the dirt.  Once discouraged from that (because of a leash) because digging in dirt less than one hour after a bath would be like leaving a car wash and immediately driving through rain, he settles down and merely looks beautiful.

      “They say the dog is man's best friend. I don't believe that.   How many of your friends have you neutered?”  
~ Larry Reeb

Gizmo proven not to be a Corgi!

Alas, no Corgi, he. 

         Several people believe that Gizmo is a corgi, the royal dogs beloved by English royalty.                                                                                           Today, I tried to wake him to see the telecast of the wedding between Kate Middleton and Prince William at around 3 am our time.                                                                                           Gizmo preferred to nap in his cage.                                                                   Gizmo is no corgi.

      “I like driving around with my two dogs, especially on the freeways. I make them wear little hats so I can use the car-pool lanes.” 
- Monica Piper

1:30 am: Time to Whine

Sleeping in doorway against a wall, but not at night

         I got up four times during the night, 1:30 am, 2:15, 4 am and 5:45 am, because Gizmo was barking, yipping, high-pitched whining or making a sound that apparently only I could hear.  This was, by now, rather odd behavior for him. 

         Each time I got up, shuffled down to his cage and looked inside, hoping that the dog was not in pain or urinary discomfort.  Each time, Gizmo looked up at me as if to say, “I assume you have a reason to be here?”

         He did not greet me joyously or with even the least energy.

         I went to my fallback position at such times: I said NO in no uncertain times and I rapped on the cage loud enough to disturb him, but not intense enough to wake up Grace.

         Then he became quiet and perhaps just a little morose.  A half hour later I was awakened from a deep sleep by more high-pitched whining.

         I got up around 6:30 am and took him out for a walk, which was greeted joyously.  Oddly enough, on the designated piss path above the pool, Gizmo merely sat down and looked at me with interest, but as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do there.

         Then he dashed to the side door, where he waited for me to hook up his leash.  When I opened the door, out he pranced, ears flapping, legs almost high stepping, a big grin on his face.

         Dogs, who usually have no shame, also have no memory or reaction to waking me four times in the middle of the night for no reason at all.  Today, I shall be tired and needing of a nap.  Gizmo will be his friendly, leaping, tonguing, energetic self. 

         I wonder: Can we teach any dog to apologize?

“A man once told me that his dog was half pit bull and half Poodle. He claimed that it wasn't much good as a guard dog, but it was a vicious gossip.”  Stanley Coren

The hidden dog

Another favorite napping spot: under my desk

Grace, who had an appointment for which she was late, wanted to get Gizmo into his cage (training facility to the more politically correct).  Gizmo hid under her bed.  WAY under her bad in her office. 

She tried to coax him with treats.  She attempted to be stern and say, in no uncertain terms, “I’m not fooling around: get out her and get in your cage.”  Gizmo just retreated further under her bed.

Finally, she had to leave.  Her note told me: “Gizmo under the bed.  Can’t get him out.  Hope no accidents while I am out.”

When I arrived about an hour and a half after Grace left, there was Gizmo, happy to see me, prancing around, joyous in his greetings (as he always is).  No “accidents”, no problems in allowing him to roam free.

My fear: Gizmo has learned something new.  The next time we need to have him in his cage, he will retreat to beneath the bed in Grace’s office.

Sure enough, I was about to leave, Gizmo just stared at me from the end of the hallway and, when I made a move towards him, he dashed into Grace’s office and disappeared under the bed.

But I was as determined as Gizmo was.  I reached under the bed, found his collar, grabbed his front and back end, and dragged him out, carrying him to the cage.

I did not scold or yell at him.  I merely forcefully picked him up and deposited him in the cage.

The next time, when we were going out for the night, I opened the cage door, tossed a treat inside and Gizmo ran, not walked, into the cage.  When he settled down in there, it was with a sigh of apparent relief.  Humans one, dog zero.

"Man is a dog's idea of what God should be." -- Holbrook Jackson