A benefit from the flooding...and a post about one of the best dogs ever

Not long after I moved in here, the first really heavy that came along flooded my basement and damaged many boxes of items that I had moved here but not yet unpacked.

The other day I was going through a box of some damaged goods that had survived when I found some old film negatives from a few years ago. I looked at them for a few seconds and rushed them right over to CVS photo to see if they could save the images and put them on a disk. They did--for an outrageous price which I still gladly paid--and I now have the only computer pictures of Lagniappe's predecessor and half-brother, Oliver Jackson Hatfield Dog.



Oliver was my first German Shepherd dog. I got him shortly after my first year of law school, back when he was just a little black fuzzy creature that was scared of everything. He grew to become a fantastic dog and we traveled the country together. In fact these pictures of him were taken back when we lived in New Orleans.


One of my first and favorite memories of Oliver was of the time right after I got him when he taught me that little dogs need to be in crates when left home alone. I knew this of course but did not have a crate so I had taken to puting him in my bathroom with the door shut when I went to night classes for a few hours. That worked fine once or twice, but then I came home one night to the sound of a puppy shrieking and ywoling in terror. I hurriedly opened my door and rushed to the bathroom without even bothering to turn on the hall light. And as soon as I opened the door, a small fuzzy black and WET rocket shot past my feet on the curl of a tidal wave of water several inches high that flowed down my hallway and into my living room.

It took me a few seconds to grasp what had just happened.

Apparently Oliver had climbed into the bath tub for some reason. In doing so--or while trying to get out--he kicked the drain lever shut and he spun the tap and turned the water on. (Fortunately it was the cold water.) The water filled the tub and overflowed onto the floor. Now that house sat on a concrete slab and it had no floor drain in the bathroom. Owing to the molding at the base of the door--and a rug that had been pushed up against it--the bathroom slowly began to fill with water. Yes, some had leaked under the door but I hadn't seen that because I didn't turn the lights on first. So when I opened the door....Wooosh!

I was hours cleaning up the water after I calmed and dried the traumatized pup. And first thing the next morning we went to the local feed store and bought him a nice new crate.


Oliver grew on me quickly and we were inseparable. He traveled with me to over 24 states.

We lived in New Orleans for a bit and he partied with the best of them on Bourbon Street. Here he is taking a break on St. Patrick's Day. Note that he's got more beads than I ever got. The chicks just loved to give him beads. One night a shapely young thing was up on a balcony showing off her attributes when a guy standing near me threw her some beads. She looked down and said "give these to that adorable dog!" and threw them to me. I put them around Oliver's neck just as the guy who'd thrown them up came over to me.
"I didn't throw those beads up there for no dog to have them," he exclaimed. Realizing that he was drunk enough to get stupid, I stepped back and said "Hey, take them back if you want them."
He reached down for them and Oliver let out a loud growl and bared his teeth in a menacing warning challenge that stopped the guy in his tracks. The guy looked to me and I shrugged and said "I should warn you that he really likes his beads."
The guy wisely gave up and stormed off and Oliver kept his beads.



Here he is hanging out in Jackson Square with Shawna.



Shawna was a Cherokee tarot reader who worked the Square and held a part-time gig at House of Blues on Decatur Street. She was one of my good friends back in the day and she used to watch Oliver when I had to go somewhere that dogs weren't allowed. She used to shamelessly tout him as a "half wolf" and she'd tell the gullible tourists that he channeled the spirit of an indian warrior and medicine man. And he loved to stay by her because he loved the attention and also because she was forever giving him bits of food.



And here he is with Delilah, another one of those fabulous creatures of the night that inhabited the French Quarter back in my day. And yes, Oliver and I were also accepted members of the Quarter Creature community--that eclectic and colorful band of people who are drawn to the Crescent City and who gave it so much character and color back before Hurricane Katrina and City Councilwoman Jacquelyn Brechtel Clarkson scattered them to the four corners of the country. Alas, hurricanes do what hurricanes do but Clarkson has been a relentless foe of the Quarter Creatures for years as she fights to drive out anyone not wealthy enough to afford any of the real estate that she speculates in. But I'll get back to her another time. This is Oliver's post and I know he'd resent sharing it with Jackie Clarkson.


Oliver used to hang out and pose with Silver and Goldie too. Mel and D. were staples of the Quarter for many years and I'm proud to call them friends to this day. Shortly before Katrina hit, they were working for a pizza place in the Quarter because the city council passed an odrinance barring performers from wearing masks or face paint. But of all my memories of New Orleans, I'll always relish the times when Goldie and I used to drink beer on the sidewalk and talk about life. (Yeah, usually I bought, but on his his good nights when the tips were rolling he'd reciprocate.) And Oliver hated mimes and other masked people with a passion (hey--who doesn't) and he usually lunged at every one he saw, but he truly loved Mel (Silver) and ran to her every time he saw them.

When Oliver and I moved away, we left lots of good people behind--Lisa, Kricket, Pops, Montana Rose, Flame, Skip, Debbie and a few others that we used to spend our time with every day and/or night. All were basically people of the streets and once they accepted Oliver and I as fellow travelers I found them to be some of the least pretentious and most trustworthy people I've ever known. Ironically a few years later a background investigator for a government job that I was applying for had to go try to find some of them to satisfy the inflexible requirement for three character references in ever place that I'd ever lived. I didn't have addresses for most of them and none of them were the sort of people to have telephones so I had to send the investigator to various Bourbon Street bars to find them. That investigator later told my that my background check was probably the most interesting investigation he's ever done. And my Quarter Creature compadres all remembered me and Oliver and gave me exemplary references. (Hmmm... Positive character references from street hustlers, topless dancers and a self-proclaimed vampire... Only in N'awlins!)