It was our first Halloween in my then-new West Virginia neighborhood...And it wasn't Murphy and Belle causing my grief back then, but Lagniappe.
Trick-r-treat, stupid dog edition.
Showing posts with label Lagniappe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lagniappe. Show all posts
Monday, October 31, 2016
Friday, February 01, 2013
Random musings
Rick was kind enough to send this pic along, in reference to Murphy, of course.
And yeah, Muphy is like that. He's proven it several times at neighborhood picnics and barbecues as he's walked right up to people, looked them in the eye, and taken burgers or hot dogs right off of their plates.
Oliver, my first Shepherd, used to do that sort of thing too, but he only targeted little kids. When I lived in New Orleans with him, I had to constantly watch him as he'd walk up to any little kid holding a hot dog and when the kid would reach out to pet him with one hand, Oliver would grab the hot dog from his other hand. Funny, but dammit, those Lucky Dog hot dogs were expensive to replace.
Lagniappe was good for it, too, only his vice was ice cream. Let him see any child with an ice cream cone and that cone was as good as snatched. At least when he did it in Harpers Ferry, the owner of the local ice cream shop, herself a big fan of Lagniappe, replaced the cones free of charge.
But Murphy...he doesn't waste his time on kids. He'll rip a burger out of an adult male's hand in a New York minute and eat it in front of the guy. No shame, that one.
The heavy rains two nights ago completely overwhelmed the flood control barriers at the Lair and gave me and Murphy an indoor pool yesterday. This hasn't happened in a while since I re-landscaped the back of the house so I'd gotten a bit lax on keeping things off the floor, to my detriment. Ah well...I just figure that a basement flood is God's way of telling you that you've got too much stuff. The garbage man is gonna need a bigger truck this week, methinks.
As to Ed Rasimus again, I'd enjoyed his books, particulary When Thunder Rolled: An F-105 Pilot over North Vietnam , for years. So when I posted a blog post about an aviation museum that I'd found in Florida and got a comment from a reader about their F-105 that I'd photographed, I was surprised and pleased to see the name of the author and pilot whose tales of flying still make me jealous today. We'd corresponded about flying and dogs and politics, both on our blogs and via e-mail, and I'm sorry to say that I never made it out to meet him the last time that he was at Wright Patterson AFB for a reunion of his Red River Valley Fighter Pilots Association. Frankly, I didn't want to be a bother at his reunion. I now wish that I had. Among other things, I would have loved to thank him for convincing me that a Cessna 172 is not an aerobatic stunt plane (especially the clapped-put rental birds I was flying back then) and really, really should not be looped or do aileron rolls no matter what a few posters on the internet say. (I'd casually asked him about control inputs for such maneuvers--for academic purposes only, of course--but he saw through my request and set me straight in a discussion punctuated with multiple exclamation points.) I may be here today because I took his advice and I'll always remember it. I'll miss ya, Ed.
Oliver, my first Shepherd, used to do that sort of thing too, but he only targeted little kids. When I lived in New Orleans with him, I had to constantly watch him as he'd walk up to any little kid holding a hot dog and when the kid would reach out to pet him with one hand, Oliver would grab the hot dog from his other hand. Funny, but dammit, those Lucky Dog hot dogs were expensive to replace.
Lagniappe was good for it, too, only his vice was ice cream. Let him see any child with an ice cream cone and that cone was as good as snatched. At least when he did it in Harpers Ferry, the owner of the local ice cream shop, herself a big fan of Lagniappe, replaced the cones free of charge.
But Murphy...he doesn't waste his time on kids. He'll rip a burger out of an adult male's hand in a New York minute and eat it in front of the guy. No shame, that one.
The heavy rains two nights ago completely overwhelmed the flood control barriers at the Lair and gave me and Murphy an indoor pool yesterday. This hasn't happened in a while since I re-landscaped the back of the house so I'd gotten a bit lax on keeping things off the floor, to my detriment. Ah well...I just figure that a basement flood is God's way of telling you that you've got too much stuff. The garbage man is gonna need a bigger truck this week, methinks.
As to Ed Rasimus again, I'd enjoyed his books, particulary When Thunder Rolled: An F-105 Pilot over North Vietnam , for years. So when I posted a blog post about an aviation museum that I'd found in Florida and got a comment from a reader about their F-105 that I'd photographed, I was surprised and pleased to see the name of the author and pilot whose tales of flying still make me jealous today. We'd corresponded about flying and dogs and politics, both on our blogs and via e-mail, and I'm sorry to say that I never made it out to meet him the last time that he was at Wright Patterson AFB for a reunion of his Red River Valley Fighter Pilots Association. Frankly, I didn't want to be a bother at his reunion. I now wish that I had. Among other things, I would have loved to thank him for convincing me that a Cessna 172 is not an aerobatic stunt plane (especially the clapped-put rental birds I was flying back then) and really, really should not be looped or do aileron rolls no matter what a few posters on the internet say. (I'd casually asked him about control inputs for such maneuvers--for academic purposes only, of course--but he saw through my request and set me straight in a discussion punctuated with multiple exclamation points.) I may be here today because I took his advice and I'll always remember it. I'll miss ya, Ed.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Fla. Gov. Rick Scott returns adopted dog after winning election
If the story is true, as it appears to be, then Florida Governor Rick Scott adopted a dog in 2010, used it as a campaign prop, and then returned it right after winning the election.
Florida governor RETURNED the rescue dog he adopted for his 2010 election campaign... AFTER he'd won.
When finally cornered on this by reporters who noticed that the dog he'd campaigned with and named "Reagan" after soliciting names for "the newest member of the family" on Facebook, Scott claimed that the dog barked at people and therefore "wasn't a good fit" for his household.
Apparently Governor Scott and I differ on what it means when you take an animal in and invite it to join the family.
Those of you who've been around a while remember Lagniappe. Lagniappe was a rescue from a kennel that specialized in police dogs. When he washed out at the end of his training, he was exiled to a dog run and left to languish until I happened upon him several months later. By that time, he'd gone near feral, and to call him a basket case would be an understatement. The kennel owner handed me his leash and told me not to worry about paying for him..."just take him home, and if you don't want him, bring him back like everyone else does."
Yeah, he was that rough when I brought him home. But I was determined to work with him, if for no other reason than because he was related by blood to my last Shepherd, Oliver. That and his hard-luck story made me want to keep working with him long after he'd exhausted my patience. For weeks, he wouldn't even stay in the same room of my apartment that I was in, and outside, when he managed to slip his leash, getting him back was a major chore as he'd refuse to come to me and he'd just sit or lay down several yards away from me, getting up to move every time I got close. I think that the only reason that he didn't just run straight away was that he knew that he had nowhere else to go. He bit me once, too. In a sudden and unexpected challenge for the Alpha role, he grabbed me by the arm and drew blood before I was able to slam him up against a wall and choke him out. But we worked through all of these issues, and once we learned to trust each other, he was a fantastic dog, one that I'll always be proud of.
But he sure was an asshole that first month.
Murphy? Well he's a rescue, too. He comes off of doggie death row after a serious biting incident involving someone who was tormenting him over a prolonged period of time. He spent nearly a year in the dog pound after that, and though he was picked up by a rescue society and spared, he was so bad there that the foster--a professional dog trainer--was leery of him. Again, he came free of charge, mainly because he was a hot mess who'd been brought back by other potential owners. And Murphy was quite an asshole too when I took him in, and he's still one at times. He's incredibly headstrong and the challenges to my authority keep coming, but he's stopped trying to bite every third person that he comes into contact with, UPS drivers and people who approach the Lair when he's on his deck notwithstanding. However he's a totally different dog than the sullen landshark that I invited into my home a little over two years ago (has it really been that long?) and now he's a joy to bring around other people or just have at my feet as I read my books in the gun room or in front of the fire.
Dogs, like people, have personalities and histories. They can all be won over in time--my two guys prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt--but it takes work and commitment and lots of time spent with the dog until he or she understands what you expect of them and comes to respect you as the master that they want to please. When I took both of these guys in, I knew that it wasn't going to be smooth or easy, but I was committed to working with them regardless of any problems that I knew that we were going to have. And it took a long time in both cases (and with Murphy, we're still working on a few things) but the effort his been worth it for both dog and man.
Bottom line: You can get any dog to come around in time, but you can't just grab one, use it as a photo op, then ignore it and get mad when it's behavior is suboptimal. Rick Scott could use a lesson or two in how to manage dogs, and now it looks like he's about to get a lesson in how to handle the media and legions of angry dog owners like myself.
Florida governor RETURNED the rescue dog he adopted for his 2010 election campaign... AFTER he'd won.
When finally cornered on this by reporters who noticed that the dog he'd campaigned with and named "Reagan" after soliciting names for "the newest member of the family" on Facebook, Scott claimed that the dog barked at people and therefore "wasn't a good fit" for his household.
Apparently Governor Scott and I differ on what it means when you take an animal in and invite it to join the family.
Those of you who've been around a while remember Lagniappe. Lagniappe was a rescue from a kennel that specialized in police dogs. When he washed out at the end of his training, he was exiled to a dog run and left to languish until I happened upon him several months later. By that time, he'd gone near feral, and to call him a basket case would be an understatement. The kennel owner handed me his leash and told me not to worry about paying for him..."just take him home, and if you don't want him, bring him back like everyone else does."
Yeah, he was that rough when I brought him home. But I was determined to work with him, if for no other reason than because he was related by blood to my last Shepherd, Oliver. That and his hard-luck story made me want to keep working with him long after he'd exhausted my patience. For weeks, he wouldn't even stay in the same room of my apartment that I was in, and outside, when he managed to slip his leash, getting him back was a major chore as he'd refuse to come to me and he'd just sit or lay down several yards away from me, getting up to move every time I got close. I think that the only reason that he didn't just run straight away was that he knew that he had nowhere else to go. He bit me once, too. In a sudden and unexpected challenge for the Alpha role, he grabbed me by the arm and drew blood before I was able to slam him up against a wall and choke him out. But we worked through all of these issues, and once we learned to trust each other, he was a fantastic dog, one that I'll always be proud of.
But he sure was an asshole that first month.
Murphy? Well he's a rescue, too. He comes off of doggie death row after a serious biting incident involving someone who was tormenting him over a prolonged period of time. He spent nearly a year in the dog pound after that, and though he was picked up by a rescue society and spared, he was so bad there that the foster--a professional dog trainer--was leery of him. Again, he came free of charge, mainly because he was a hot mess who'd been brought back by other potential owners. And Murphy was quite an asshole too when I took him in, and he's still one at times. He's incredibly headstrong and the challenges to my authority keep coming, but he's stopped trying to bite every third person that he comes into contact with, UPS drivers and people who approach the Lair when he's on his deck notwithstanding. However he's a totally different dog than the sullen landshark that I invited into my home a little over two years ago (has it really been that long?) and now he's a joy to bring around other people or just have at my feet as I read my books in the gun room or in front of the fire.
Dogs, like people, have personalities and histories. They can all be won over in time--my two guys prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt--but it takes work and commitment and lots of time spent with the dog until he or she understands what you expect of them and comes to respect you as the master that they want to please. When I took both of these guys in, I knew that it wasn't going to be smooth or easy, but I was committed to working with them regardless of any problems that I knew that we were going to have. And it took a long time in both cases (and with Murphy, we're still working on a few things) but the effort his been worth it for both dog and man.
Bottom line: You can get any dog to come around in time, but you can't just grab one, use it as a photo op, then ignore it and get mad when it's behavior is suboptimal. Rick Scott could use a lesson or two in how to manage dogs, and now it looks like he's about to get a lesson in how to handle the media and legions of angry dog owners like myself.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Flashback: First Halloweeen at the Lair
The year was 2006, I was new to the neighborhood, and Lagniappe was the star of the show.
Bad, bad dog on All Hallow's Eve
I sure do miss that dog.
Bad, bad dog on All Hallow's Eve
I sure do miss that dog.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Sunday evening at the Lair
It's a brisk Sunday evening. Dusk outside. Temperatures are dropping like Obama's poll numbers, but me and Murphy are doing just fine. The stove's lit for the first time this year and I'm on the couch, reading my newest H. Rider Haggard acquisition with a mug of steaming hot tea. And Murphy? He's simply enjoying the stove, just like Lagniappe used to.
Funny how new things can stir old memories and automatically bring a smile.
All y'all have a nice night.
Funny how new things can stir old memories and automatically bring a smile.
All y'all have a nice night.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Hand-me-down treasure from the yard
Uh oh...looks like Murphy's found something out in the fenced section of woods that comprises his new pen.
It's a basketball! A flat, black Spaulding basketball that Lagniappe used to cherish.
This ball was once Lagniappe's favorite yard toy. He bit a hole in it within minutes of my giving it to him years ago, but he never cared. He loved it just the way that it was, and it was easier for him to grip in that state anyway. We played fetch with it almost every day and I must have thrown that flat, muddy ball a thousand times. But Lagniappe never tired of retrieving it or just carrying it around. It was his favorite right up until the end when he could no longer run even a little bit and I had to put it up.
After Lagniappe was gone, I gave it one more throw, way back off into the woods. It was the last throw, in honor of my faithful pal. And this time it remained out there, unreturned.
But now it seems that the torch--or the ball--has been passed. Murphy found it and made it his. Now younger teeth will grip that ball and the games will continue. Worry not, Lagniappe. It's in good hands--or paws--again and it's still loved.
And honestly, every time I throw it I feel as if I'm throwing it for two dogs. Still miss ya, buddy.
It's a basketball! A flat, black Spaulding basketball that Lagniappe used to cherish.
This ball was once Lagniappe's favorite yard toy. He bit a hole in it within minutes of my giving it to him years ago, but he never cared. He loved it just the way that it was, and it was easier for him to grip in that state anyway. We played fetch with it almost every day and I must have thrown that flat, muddy ball a thousand times. But Lagniappe never tired of retrieving it or just carrying it around. It was his favorite right up until the end when he could no longer run even a little bit and I had to put it up.
After Lagniappe was gone, I gave it one more throw, way back off into the woods. It was the last throw, in honor of my faithful pal. And this time it remained out there, unreturned.But now it seems that the torch--or the ball--has been passed. Murphy found it and made it his. Now younger teeth will grip that ball and the games will continue. Worry not, Lagniappe. It's in good hands--or paws--again and it's still loved.
And honestly, every time I throw it I feel as if I'm throwing it for two dogs. Still miss ya, buddy.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Yesterday and Today
Yesterday, I had to drive in to work for a bit. As so often happens, I wound up being delayed time and time again by drivers who were going just at or even below the posted speed limits, either on the two-land country roads that I have to traverse, or in the left lane of the highway when I got on that. In most cases, when I was finally able to pass (sometimes by crossing the double yellow line because the only alternative was to stay behind them for miles, poke along, and get to work late), I noticed that it was almost always SOME JACK-ASS WITH A CELL PHONE UP TO THEIR HEAD, obviously more interested in their conversation than they were in their driving or the time constraints of all of the people behind them. On the two-lane which I must use for twenty miles--the one that only has three short passing zones--it seemed more the rule than the exception to come up on a whole long line of cars all driving slow, everyone held back by the idiot at the head of the line who hadn't noticed or didn't care that there were two dozen cars on their back bumper while the closest car ahead of them had gone over the horizon a long time ago. And the ones on the highway? They always seem to park themselves behind some slow-mover in the right lane and just sit there, blocking everyone else who might want to actually use the passing lane for, you know...PASSING!
People like this need to be shot, or at least run into the ditch. When I get to be President, there will be a new law allowing for the sideswiping of anyone driving slow and talking on the phone. A simple declaration of "I needed to get somewhere but I couldn't get past that jack-ass on his/her phone..." will stand as an absolute defense against any criminal or civil claims that might be filed by said jack-ass. It's harsh, but oblivious cell-phone yakker/drivers have it coming and have for some time now.
Oh--and it did not escape my keen observation that most of these drivers were women. I'm just saying...
Today, New Dog--the Dog That Resists Being Named--and I stayed home and enjoyed the first snow-fall of the year. We were actually going to go to the dog park but the roads were all being shut down by people crashing. I stopped to help at one and it was--you guessed it--a young woman driver who had slid into the ditch and flipped her SUV up on it's side. When I got there, EMS had not arrived yet so I pulled over to make sure that she was ok. She was, and predictably, she was complaining that the roads were too slippery and now her new truck was wrecked because the county wasn't doing anything about it.
"No, honey," I replied. "You wrecked your own truck because you were driving too fast." (And probably on your phone, I thought privately.) "Notice how none of these other people are going into the ditch?" I could also still make out her skid marks in the snow, and she'd fish-tailed several times before hitting the ditch. She'd clearly had some speed on. Idiot.
When the Sheriff's Deputy arrived (and commenced to writing her a ticket for Operating Too Fast for Conditions), I left and went back home. It wasn't worth driving half way across the county in this weather with more people like that one on the roads.
Back at the house, I lit the fire up in the stove and Dog and I lay down to take naps--him on his dog bed and me on the couch. So nice.
Afterwards, I thought that a walk might be in order so I began putting my shoes on. Dog came up beside me and whined a bit, and when I ignored him, he reached over and took his leash off of the arm of the chair that it was on and turned to me with it in his mouth. I laughed and took it from him, setting it on the couch next to me only to have him pick the end of it back up and set it on my lap. WTF?! Where did he ever learn that? Smart dog.
So we went walking, and as we did so, we encountered the UPS man making a delivery to one of the neighbors.
"He's not going to bite me, is he?" asked the UPS man as we walked up.
"I hope not," I replied. "This is a new dog."
The UPS man tentatively gave this one a pet, and told me that he'd been worried for a moment because he thought it was Lagniappe.
"Aw, Lagniappe liked you," I told him, after explaining that Lagniappe was gone.
"That's not the impression I got from him," he said. "Every time I ever went over there when you weren't around, I thought that he was going to bust out that window and kill me."
"Seriously?" I asked, laughing.
"Yeah," he said. "Didn't you ever wonder why I always left your packages down on your driveway instead of up on your porch? That dog always scared the hell out of me."
Good job, Lagniappe. You were a damn good dog.
This new one's got some big paw-prints to try to step into.
People like this need to be shot, or at least run into the ditch. When I get to be President, there will be a new law allowing for the sideswiping of anyone driving slow and talking on the phone. A simple declaration of "I needed to get somewhere but I couldn't get past that jack-ass on his/her phone..." will stand as an absolute defense against any criminal or civil claims that might be filed by said jack-ass. It's harsh, but oblivious cell-phone yakker/drivers have it coming and have for some time now.
Oh--and it did not escape my keen observation that most of these drivers were women. I'm just saying...
Today, New Dog--the Dog That Resists Being Named--and I stayed home and enjoyed the first snow-fall of the year. We were actually going to go to the dog park but the roads were all being shut down by people crashing. I stopped to help at one and it was--you guessed it--a young woman driver who had slid into the ditch and flipped her SUV up on it's side. When I got there, EMS had not arrived yet so I pulled over to make sure that she was ok. She was, and predictably, she was complaining that the roads were too slippery and now her new truck was wrecked because the county wasn't doing anything about it.
"No, honey," I replied. "You wrecked your own truck because you were driving too fast." (And probably on your phone, I thought privately.) "Notice how none of these other people are going into the ditch?" I could also still make out her skid marks in the snow, and she'd fish-tailed several times before hitting the ditch. She'd clearly had some speed on. Idiot.
When the Sheriff's Deputy arrived (and commenced to writing her a ticket for Operating Too Fast for Conditions), I left and went back home. It wasn't worth driving half way across the county in this weather with more people like that one on the roads.
Back at the house, I lit the fire up in the stove and Dog and I lay down to take naps--him on his dog bed and me on the couch. So nice.
Afterwards, I thought that a walk might be in order so I began putting my shoes on. Dog came up beside me and whined a bit, and when I ignored him, he reached over and took his leash off of the arm of the chair that it was on and turned to me with it in his mouth. I laughed and took it from him, setting it on the couch next to me only to have him pick the end of it back up and set it on my lap. WTF?! Where did he ever learn that? Smart dog.
So we went walking, and as we did so, we encountered the UPS man making a delivery to one of the neighbors.
"He's not going to bite me, is he?" asked the UPS man as we walked up.
"I hope not," I replied. "This is a new dog."
The UPS man tentatively gave this one a pet, and told me that he'd been worried for a moment because he thought it was Lagniappe.
"Aw, Lagniappe liked you," I told him, after explaining that Lagniappe was gone.
"That's not the impression I got from him," he said. "Every time I ever went over there when you weren't around, I thought that he was going to bust out that window and kill me."
"Seriously?" I asked, laughing.
"Yeah," he said. "Didn't you ever wonder why I always left your packages down on your driveway instead of up on your porch? That dog always scared the hell out of me."
Good job, Lagniappe. You were a damn good dog.
This new one's got some big paw-prints to try to step into.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Moving forward again.
It's been three days now. I've mourned my friend--and will continue to do so--but it's time to shake it off and get back in operation. There will be some changes but the blog will continue. I definitely want to thank everyone who sent kind words, either publicly or privately, or called with condolences. It meant a lot, and it's nice to think that while he was mine, Lagniappe was also the internet's dog.
Admittedly, the house seems pretty empty now. I had Lagniappe when I moved in and he's always been a part of this house so I feel his absence now. No one greets me at the door when I walk in, and when I wake up in the middle of the night, I don't hear him stirring too. I still get those automatic reminders in the back of my mind to feed the dog, or let the dog out. But there's no dog here any more. And I haven't quite gotten around to boxing up all of his stuff yet, although I'm noticing how much stuff in the form of toys, bowls, brushes and other dog things that he had. He was definitely rich in possessions.
He was, of course, buried with his beloved hedgehog. I also gave him a tennis ball to share with my other departed dogs, and left him his collar so that there will never be any doubt that he's still my dog. I kept his tags.
Some of the toys will be taken to the local shelter for other less-fortunate dogs to play with. A couple toys will be held back for the next dog that will undoubtedly come around one of these days. There will be another dog. There's always another dog. Lagniappe was another dog once, fresh on the loss of my last Shepherd, Oliver.
In fact when he first got here, I resented him for not being Oliver--he looked the same, but had a different personality, different expectations, and different needs. He also came with a whole slew of baggage--he'd been neglected by the kennel that he'd been returned to to the point where he didn't like anyone, including me. It wasn't a good start by any measure but we worked through the issues and eventually meshed into a great team. An unbeatable team.
Now as I look around the Lair, I see his footprint everywhere. There's still a ton of loose black dog hair around, a deck that will need repainting where his claws tore it up, nose prints on most of the windows and doors, and the damage done to the sliding glass patio door that opens onto the deck. This last one was always a source or frustration; every time that I went to let him in over the years, he would stand on his side of the door like a coiled spring, ready to jump. I'd tell him no, but every time, as soon as I'd reach for the inside handle, he'd jump up against the other side of the door and hit it hard with both paws. Every. Single. Time. For more than five years. Now the door has a slight but noticeable bend in it's frame, and it binds in the track just a bit when I slide it. It didn't do that when we moved in, but five years of a Shepherd pounding on it for no reason at all has had an impact. And I could never get him to stop, no matter what I tried. eventually I just gave up and learned to expect it. I miss it now. I've been opening the door for three days now and no one has slammed into the other side, not even once.
So I'll fix these things now. And I won't mind, because he was my friend. I'd accept ten times the mess and damage just for a little more time with him. But I know that's not possible. It was his time to go and while I'm sad now, and while this past week-end was painful, the pain can't compare to the memories of the great times that we shared together over the past eight years. We hiked, camped, and traveled from Maine to Florida and back. We swam together, played ball together, and took long rides and even a few flights together. And even the quiet times I spent reading on the deck or in the gun room or napping on the couch were enriched by his near-constant presence beside me. He was well-mannered and polite, always sitting and waiting to be invited up on my bed and never begging for my food, popcorn excepted since my mother got him addicted to the stuff the first time I let her dog-sit him. It was only at the end when I relaxed the rules that he began begging for (and getting) some of whatever I was eating--but for most of his life, he never begged food or asked much of me save for a neck scratch or a few tosses of his toy. In return, he was my companion and the protector of my possessions, and I always knew that no one was ever getting into my house and getting back out again whole as long as he was there.
So while I'm missing him, I'm also smiling as I think of all of the good times. We bonded together like few friends ever do, and there hasn't been a day during the past eight years that he hasn't enriched somehow. Yeah, that's a fair trade for a few sad days at the end. And to be honest, I'm sad for me, but glad for him. His quality of life was diminishing every day, until all he had left was me doing the best that I could to keep him comfortable and content. I watched a dog who used to climb ladders and could scale a five-foot fence with ease falter to the point where he couldn't get up two small steps without help. But I gave him that help gladly, and we stretched it out as long as we could. The vet said that he didn't feel any pain in his hind legs so I never minded accommodating him as long as he was still able to move around. However, we finally reached the point when it was time for him to go. And there were tears, but there are a lot more good memories: summer days in the sun, winter evenings by the fire, rides in the car, impromptu wrestling matches on the floor, and countless hours spent together just doing things that guys and their dogs do.
We had a good run, Lagniappe. I couldn't have asked for a better pal. You were a good dog, and you were a great friend. Go to God, fella. I'll be along one day and we'll see each other again then.
Admittedly, the house seems pretty empty now. I had Lagniappe when I moved in and he's always been a part of this house so I feel his absence now. No one greets me at the door when I walk in, and when I wake up in the middle of the night, I don't hear him stirring too. I still get those automatic reminders in the back of my mind to feed the dog, or let the dog out. But there's no dog here any more. And I haven't quite gotten around to boxing up all of his stuff yet, although I'm noticing how much stuff in the form of toys, bowls, brushes and other dog things that he had. He was definitely rich in possessions.
He was, of course, buried with his beloved hedgehog. I also gave him a tennis ball to share with my other departed dogs, and left him his collar so that there will never be any doubt that he's still my dog. I kept his tags.
Some of the toys will be taken to the local shelter for other less-fortunate dogs to play with. A couple toys will be held back for the next dog that will undoubtedly come around one of these days. There will be another dog. There's always another dog. Lagniappe was another dog once, fresh on the loss of my last Shepherd, Oliver.
In fact when he first got here, I resented him for not being Oliver--he looked the same, but had a different personality, different expectations, and different needs. He also came with a whole slew of baggage--he'd been neglected by the kennel that he'd been returned to to the point where he didn't like anyone, including me. It wasn't a good start by any measure but we worked through the issues and eventually meshed into a great team. An unbeatable team.
Now as I look around the Lair, I see his footprint everywhere. There's still a ton of loose black dog hair around, a deck that will need repainting where his claws tore it up, nose prints on most of the windows and doors, and the damage done to the sliding glass patio door that opens onto the deck. This last one was always a source or frustration; every time that I went to let him in over the years, he would stand on his side of the door like a coiled spring, ready to jump. I'd tell him no, but every time, as soon as I'd reach for the inside handle, he'd jump up against the other side of the door and hit it hard with both paws. Every. Single. Time. For more than five years. Now the door has a slight but noticeable bend in it's frame, and it binds in the track just a bit when I slide it. It didn't do that when we moved in, but five years of a Shepherd pounding on it for no reason at all has had an impact. And I could never get him to stop, no matter what I tried. eventually I just gave up and learned to expect it. I miss it now. I've been opening the door for three days now and no one has slammed into the other side, not even once.
So I'll fix these things now. And I won't mind, because he was my friend. I'd accept ten times the mess and damage just for a little more time with him. But I know that's not possible. It was his time to go and while I'm sad now, and while this past week-end was painful, the pain can't compare to the memories of the great times that we shared together over the past eight years. We hiked, camped, and traveled from Maine to Florida and back. We swam together, played ball together, and took long rides and even a few flights together. And even the quiet times I spent reading on the deck or in the gun room or napping on the couch were enriched by his near-constant presence beside me. He was well-mannered and polite, always sitting and waiting to be invited up on my bed and never begging for my food, popcorn excepted since my mother got him addicted to the stuff the first time I let her dog-sit him. It was only at the end when I relaxed the rules that he began begging for (and getting) some of whatever I was eating--but for most of his life, he never begged food or asked much of me save for a neck scratch or a few tosses of his toy. In return, he was my companion and the protector of my possessions, and I always knew that no one was ever getting into my house and getting back out again whole as long as he was there.
So while I'm missing him, I'm also smiling as I think of all of the good times. We bonded together like few friends ever do, and there hasn't been a day during the past eight years that he hasn't enriched somehow. Yeah, that's a fair trade for a few sad days at the end. And to be honest, I'm sad for me, but glad for him. His quality of life was diminishing every day, until all he had left was me doing the best that I could to keep him comfortable and content. I watched a dog who used to climb ladders and could scale a five-foot fence with ease falter to the point where he couldn't get up two small steps without help. But I gave him that help gladly, and we stretched it out as long as we could. The vet said that he didn't feel any pain in his hind legs so I never minded accommodating him as long as he was still able to move around. However, we finally reached the point when it was time for him to go. And there were tears, but there are a lot more good memories: summer days in the sun, winter evenings by the fire, rides in the car, impromptu wrestling matches on the floor, and countless hours spent together just doing things that guys and their dogs do.
We had a good run, Lagniappe. I couldn't have asked for a better pal. You were a good dog, and you were a great friend. Go to God, fella. I'll be along one day and we'll see each other again then.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Lagniappe. 2001-2010.
Last night Lagniappe finally lost his remaining ability to walk. We sat together on the floor and shared a last bag of popcorn, then I lifted him up onto my bed and talked to him and petted him until around one AM. This morning, he didn't even want to get up, so I didn't make him. I cooked a nice breakfast of sausage and potatoes and gave him half, on his own plate on the bed. Then we took a long ride among the fall colors, stopping to buy a couple of donuts on the way to the vet. He went peacefully. He just closed his eyes, and then he was gone.
He's in a better place now, able to run and play again while he waits for me, no doubt in the company of another German Shepherd and a Golden Retriever that went before him.
Lagniappe, it seems like just yesterday that you came to live with me.
Thank you for eight great years, my friend.
I'll miss you.
He's in a better place now, able to run and play again while he waits for me, no doubt in the company of another German Shepherd and a Golden Retriever that went before him.
Lagniappe, it seems like just yesterday that you came to live with me.
Thank you for eight great years, my friend.
I'll miss you.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Shhhhh.... You'll wake the watch dog.
There used to be a time when Lagniappe was really on his game. Back then, I was alerted to any and all visitors by his loud warning barks which began about as soon as a vehicle on the road even slowed down near the end of the driveway. Lagniappe's senses and perception were uncanny, and in his prime he was nigh infallible. And his ferocious bark kept everyone with any sense well back from Lagniappe's deck.
But today... Sigh. Today, the big brown UPS truck slowed and stopped at the end of the driveway without a challenge. The UPS man even brought a big box up and set it on the steps, all while the once-vigilant watchdog napped undisturbed on his dog bed just the other side of the sliding glass door.
By luck I happened to catch a glimpse of the UPS man returning to his truck, at which time I woke Lagniappe and pointed him out. Lagniappe staggered to his feet and gave him a half-hearted barking at, but it honestly wasn't very impressive.
It sucks to get old, doesn't it, pal? But it's ok. I'll do the watching for a while. You just rest and enjoy the sunbeam. You've earned it, my friend.
But today... Sigh. Today, the big brown UPS truck slowed and stopped at the end of the driveway without a challenge. The UPS man even brought a big box up and set it on the steps, all while the once-vigilant watchdog napped undisturbed on his dog bed just the other side of the sliding glass door.
By luck I happened to catch a glimpse of the UPS man returning to his truck, at which time I woke Lagniappe and pointed him out. Lagniappe staggered to his feet and gave him a half-hearted barking at, but it honestly wasn't very impressive.
It sucks to get old, doesn't it, pal? But it's ok. I'll do the watching for a while. You just rest and enjoy the sunbeam. You've earned it, my friend.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Tag Team
Lagniappe still barks at the neighbor's trespassing cats from the deck, much as he's always done. But these days, the cats have figured out that he's not coming off the deck to get them any more so they just stare at him and give him that cat "F.U." look.
Well we can't have that, so Lagniappe and I have partnered up to teach the cats back a bit of the respect that they seem to have forgotten to show around here.
Now when Lagniappe sees a cat and barks, I pick up the Airsoft pistol that I'd bought when Spud came to visit last and I join him out on the deck. If the cat is still in sight, I take aim and help Lagniappe project some power in the cat's direction. I have to think that it makes Lagniappe feel better and it's good target practice for me. And those cats make perfect reactive targets--if you miss one, they don't register being shot at so they continue to just sit there, but when you hit one, it's clearly obvious as the cat makes a displeased sound and runs like mad back for it's home in the neighbor's yard. The cats are small enough to make the shot challenging, yet the airsoft rounds won't cause them any permanent harm.
So far today, Lagniappe and I have nailed four of them, and that's on top of the three we got last night. He may not be very mobile these days but we still make a pretty good "sniper/spotter" team.
You want a piece of me, cat?
Well we can't have that, so Lagniappe and I have partnered up to teach the cats back a bit of the respect that they seem to have forgotten to show around here.
Now when Lagniappe sees a cat and barks, I pick up the Airsoft pistol that I'd bought when Spud came to visit last and I join him out on the deck. If the cat is still in sight, I take aim and help Lagniappe project some power in the cat's direction. I have to think that it makes Lagniappe feel better and it's good target practice for me. And those cats make perfect reactive targets--if you miss one, they don't register being shot at so they continue to just sit there, but when you hit one, it's clearly obvious as the cat makes a displeased sound and runs like mad back for it's home in the neighbor's yard. The cats are small enough to make the shot challenging, yet the airsoft rounds won't cause them any permanent harm.
So far today, Lagniappe and I have nailed four of them, and that's on top of the three we got last night. He may not be very mobile these days but we still make a pretty good "sniper/spotter" team.
You want a piece of me, cat?
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Ah, Lagniappe
You may have noticed that I don't write much about Lagniappe these days. It's mostly because since he can barely walk, we don't do much aside from sitting on the deck or taking naps on the bed. (Yes, he's allowed back up on my bed. Why not? He just wants to be close to me and I can't deny him that. Sadly, he even needs help getting up there now.)
Sometimes though, he still manages to make me laugh. Like yesterday, when he found an empty peanut butter jar that I'd tossed at the recycling box but missed. What's the rule? Oh yeah. "In the box, not his, on the floor, his." He grabbed the large plastic jar and was lying on the living room floor trying to get every last morsel of the peanut butter out of it when lo and behold, he managed to get his muzzle stuck in the jar. My only regret was that I couldn't get to a camera in time, but I'd undoubtedly have messed the shot up anyway, I was laughing so hard.
So I helped the silly dog get the jar off his nose (because what else are friends for?) and naturally he looked at me like it was somehow my fault.
He's still the warrior, though. Last night, the auto glass repair guy came over, and Lagniappe barked at him so territorially that he backed down the driveway again and called me on his cell phone to ask me if the dog bites?
"Well not until you get up here and get out of the van," I told him. I had to take him back in the house before the guy would come back, and even then he lay by the window and watched the guy like a hawk the whole time he was here.
Still the protector, at least in his own mind. Watch 'em, pal. I got your back if you need me. When the next bad guy comes around, we'll take him together.
Sometimes though, he still manages to make me laugh. Like yesterday, when he found an empty peanut butter jar that I'd tossed at the recycling box but missed. What's the rule? Oh yeah. "In the box, not his, on the floor, his." He grabbed the large plastic jar and was lying on the living room floor trying to get every last morsel of the peanut butter out of it when lo and behold, he managed to get his muzzle stuck in the jar. My only regret was that I couldn't get to a camera in time, but I'd undoubtedly have messed the shot up anyway, I was laughing so hard.
So I helped the silly dog get the jar off his nose (because what else are friends for?) and naturally he looked at me like it was somehow my fault.
He's still the warrior, though. Last night, the auto glass repair guy came over, and Lagniappe barked at him so territorially that he backed down the driveway again and called me on his cell phone to ask me if the dog bites?
"Well not until you get up here and get out of the van," I told him. I had to take him back in the house before the guy would come back, and even then he lay by the window and watched the guy like a hawk the whole time he was here.
Still the protector, at least in his own mind. Watch 'em, pal. I got your back if you need me. When the next bad guy comes around, we'll take him together.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Happy Dog Recipe
1. Take 1 carton Breyers ice cream (preferably vanilla)
2. Add one German Shepherd.
3. Stand clear, lest ye be knocked aside.
2. Add one German Shepherd.
3. Stand clear, lest ye be knocked aside.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Can dogs count?
Anyone who thinks that dogs can't count should try taking three cookies out of the dog treat box in front of the dog and then only giving him two.
Trust me--Lagniappe counts and counts well.
Trust me--Lagniappe counts and counts well.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
My buddy
Still Master of all he surveys.
The deck is his world now. But cats and select passers-by still get barked at.
The deck is his world now. But cats and select passers-by still get barked at.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Another bike ride
I hit the C&O Canal towpath on my new bike again today. This time I got on at Harpers Ferry, (just prior to mile marker 61) and rode up to Antietam Creek (mile marker 69.4) for a total ride of approx. 17 miles. Not bad for a second trip ever, eh?
Started out with a wildlife encounter of sorts as I was leaving Harpers Ferry. As I was coasting slow along the left side of the trail watching the river, I heard a distinctive sound that I've not heard since my Colorado days: the rattle of a rattlesnake. Apparently I'd gotten a bit to close for Br'er Snake's comfort and he was warning me off. Naturally, me being me, I stopped, turned around, and went back to look for the critter, but to no avail. As I was searching the area, two hikers walked up and asked what I was looking for. They seemed genuinely curious and willing to help look, however, when I told them that it was a rattlesnake just off the trail's edge, they made themselves scarce pretty quickly.
Back on the ride, I pedaled up along the Potomac River, watching it go from rock-choked whitewater to a calm, placid and wide river in the space of a couple of miles.
As I rode, I recalled the last time I'd been up this way--it was October 11, 2008, and I'd hiked it with Lagniappe up to Dargan's Bend, walking about half the distance that I rode today. I'll always remember that day as "the day of the thousand squirrels" because it seems that Lagniappe was spotting one of the tree-rats every few minutes and bolting off into the woods in pursuit. He never caught one, but I yelled my voice hoarse calling him back umpteen million times. Still, we sure had fun that day. And of course I know the exact date because I'd blogged it.
The ride took a bit under two hours, with a rest stop at Antietam Creek and another one at Dargan's Bend on the return trip. Did I mention that I really like this new bike?
After the ride, I went home, got Lagniappe, and brought him back to Harpers Ferry because Sharon, the owner of the Swiss Miss ice cream shop--Lagniappe's patron and benefactor ever since we first moved here--wanted to see him. So I got him up in the truck, took him back there, and she gave him a couple more ice cream cones and a burger. Sharon's given this dog literally dozens of ice cream cones over the years, and I can't take him anywhere near Harpers Ferry without him going ape because he identifies the place with Sharon and her cones. Here they are together.
If you ever get to Harpers Ferry, look her up and tell her that Lagniappe and I referred you. And you won't be sorry--she has the best soft-serve and custard that you'll find anywhere around these parts.
All in all, a great day.
Started out with a wildlife encounter of sorts as I was leaving Harpers Ferry. As I was coasting slow along the left side of the trail watching the river, I heard a distinctive sound that I've not heard since my Colorado days: the rattle of a rattlesnake. Apparently I'd gotten a bit to close for Br'er Snake's comfort and he was warning me off. Naturally, me being me, I stopped, turned around, and went back to look for the critter, but to no avail. As I was searching the area, two hikers walked up and asked what I was looking for. They seemed genuinely curious and willing to help look, however, when I told them that it was a rattlesnake just off the trail's edge, they made themselves scarce pretty quickly.
Back on the ride, I pedaled up along the Potomac River, watching it go from rock-choked whitewater to a calm, placid and wide river in the space of a couple of miles.
As I rode, I recalled the last time I'd been up this way--it was October 11, 2008, and I'd hiked it with Lagniappe up to Dargan's Bend, walking about half the distance that I rode today. I'll always remember that day as "the day of the thousand squirrels" because it seems that Lagniappe was spotting one of the tree-rats every few minutes and bolting off into the woods in pursuit. He never caught one, but I yelled my voice hoarse calling him back umpteen million times. Still, we sure had fun that day. And of course I know the exact date because I'd blogged it.
The ride took a bit under two hours, with a rest stop at Antietam Creek and another one at Dargan's Bend on the return trip. Did I mention that I really like this new bike?
After the ride, I went home, got Lagniappe, and brought him back to Harpers Ferry because Sharon, the owner of the Swiss Miss ice cream shop--Lagniappe's patron and benefactor ever since we first moved here--wanted to see him. So I got him up in the truck, took him back there, and she gave him a couple more ice cream cones and a burger. Sharon's given this dog literally dozens of ice cream cones over the years, and I can't take him anywhere near Harpers Ferry without him going ape because he identifies the place with Sharon and her cones. Here they are together.
If you ever get to Harpers Ferry, look her up and tell her that Lagniappe and I referred you. And you won't be sorry--she has the best soft-serve and custard that you'll find anywhere around these parts.
All in all, a great day.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thanks, Pal.
Thanks a lot.
Today I took Lagniappe out for a ride, just because he's been penned up in the house for so long. He was so excited when I told him that he could come down the stairs to the door--he hasn't been out in a few weeks now because he just can't walk well enough any more. Even today he couldn't get up in my truck without help, but hey--what are friends for? I got him up there and I took him along to run a few errands. He loves to ride and he never ceases watching everything and everyone around us.
At lunch time, I went to a little place with an outdoor patio that allows dogs, so he was able to come lay beside me and partake of a few morsels. While there, I ran across a nice young lady that I've been trying to chat up. Of course she's heard about Lagniappe and wanted to meet him, but she was a bit apprehensive when she got near him. "He won't bite me, will he?"
No, I assured her. he won't.
But Lagniappe, sensing her uncertainty, snapped at her hand as she reached out tentatively to pet him. Then as she recoiled, he barked at her, pretty much putting her to flight.
Now I know that this is just him playing. He could have easily had her hand if he'd meant to bite her, and he didn't even get up from the ground when he barked. He frequently does this with people that he senses aren't comfortable around him and it seems to amuse him, but dammit, dog...I'm trying to close a deal here and you're not helping when you literally chase her off.
A few minutes passed as she talked to me from a distance, and then she came closer to try again with him. This time however, he was Mr. Nice and he not only let her pet him, but he gave her more than a few kisses.
Dammit, twice, dog...now you're jumping ahead of me! I can't win, here.
I was so peeved at him that I almost didn't take him for ice cream afterwards.
Damn dog.
Today I took Lagniappe out for a ride, just because he's been penned up in the house for so long. He was so excited when I told him that he could come down the stairs to the door--he hasn't been out in a few weeks now because he just can't walk well enough any more. Even today he couldn't get up in my truck without help, but hey--what are friends for? I got him up there and I took him along to run a few errands. He loves to ride and he never ceases watching everything and everyone around us.
At lunch time, I went to a little place with an outdoor patio that allows dogs, so he was able to come lay beside me and partake of a few morsels. While there, I ran across a nice young lady that I've been trying to chat up. Of course she's heard about Lagniappe and wanted to meet him, but she was a bit apprehensive when she got near him. "He won't bite me, will he?"
No, I assured her. he won't.
But Lagniappe, sensing her uncertainty, snapped at her hand as she reached out tentatively to pet him. Then as she recoiled, he barked at her, pretty much putting her to flight.
Now I know that this is just him playing. He could have easily had her hand if he'd meant to bite her, and he didn't even get up from the ground when he barked. He frequently does this with people that he senses aren't comfortable around him and it seems to amuse him, but dammit, dog...I'm trying to close a deal here and you're not helping when you literally chase her off.
A few minutes passed as she talked to me from a distance, and then she came closer to try again with him. This time however, he was Mr. Nice and he not only let her pet him, but he gave her more than a few kisses.
Dammit, twice, dog...now you're jumping ahead of me! I can't win, here.
I was so peeved at him that I almost didn't take him for ice cream afterwards.
Damn dog.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Re-learning to ride
So I have a bicycle now.
I'd been telling a guy that I know that I was going to buy his mountain bike for some time now. I know nothing of bicycles but I know that this guy is a hard-core bike rider, so I know that he's chosen a good one and taken care of it. I've been wanting to get one for a while just to ride to stay in shape, and he really needed the money so I took it off his hands. Thing is, I haven't ridden a bicycle in at least twenty years, and the last time I did, I had two legs. But what the hell, eh?
I took it out the first day, and I was amazed at how easy the gearing made it to ride up hills in the local neighborhoods. I was a bit wobbly at first--ok, more than a bit--but I managed to get three miles down before my non-bike-riding body told me that it had had about enough of the pedaling and that seat. I gave it a day and took it out again yesterday for a bit longer ride. B y the end of that one, I was feeling pretty comfortable with it.
So today was the first "real" ride. I took it to Harpers Ferry and got it onto the C&O Canal towpath. Then I headed east along the Potomac River, riding it to Brunswick, Maryland, six miles away.
As it was a nice day, the towpath had quite a number of bike riders, runners and walkers on it. I quickly learned to call out to everyone that I approached that I'd be passing on the left. I also noticed that 19 out of 20 other riders seemed to be wearing bike helmets. OK, the last time I was on a bike, I don't think that the bike helmet had even been invented yet. So what's the deal, and why does everyone seem to have one? It's not a law or something that you have to have one now, is it? Clearly I have much to learn. And I guess I need to start wearing the helmet that my friend threw in with the bike.
Here's one of the locks that used to raise and lower the canal boats. This is Lock #31 just west of Brunswick. The old house is where the lock keeper and his family used to live.
I made it into Brunswick in about half an hour...not bad for someone who hasn't ridden a bike in a ton of years. I had lunch at as little restaurant where everyone seemed to know each other--and one was actually named "Bubba"--and then I rode back, making the return trip in 28 minutes.
This is the view of the towpath and canal remnants approaching the Harpers Ferry trestle. It's amazing to think that the entire canal was dug by hand and all those rocks were put in place the same way, and that it was done over 184 miles from Cumberland, MD to Washington, DC, mostly by indentured workers and rented slaves.
Total miles ridden today: Twelve. I like this bike, and I think I'm going to like riding it. The only downside to the day was being here at Harpers Ferry without Lagniappe. We've always walked or run the towpath together and it kind of felt like I was cheating on him being out here by myself. But I know that I've got to stay fit and the only way to do it is to keep exercising. Much as I liked the bike ride though, it just wasn't the same without my buddy.
Here he is, back at the Lair, laying on the deck and surveying his realm...and probably wondering when he's going to get another biscuit or dish of ice cream.
I'd been telling a guy that I know that I was going to buy his mountain bike for some time now. I know nothing of bicycles but I know that this guy is a hard-core bike rider, so I know that he's chosen a good one and taken care of it. I've been wanting to get one for a while just to ride to stay in shape, and he really needed the money so I took it off his hands. Thing is, I haven't ridden a bicycle in at least twenty years, and the last time I did, I had two legs. But what the hell, eh?
I took it out the first day, and I was amazed at how easy the gearing made it to ride up hills in the local neighborhoods. I was a bit wobbly at first--ok, more than a bit--but I managed to get three miles down before my non-bike-riding body told me that it had had about enough of the pedaling and that seat. I gave it a day and took it out again yesterday for a bit longer ride. B y the end of that one, I was feeling pretty comfortable with it.
So today was the first "real" ride. I took it to Harpers Ferry and got it onto the C&O Canal towpath. Then I headed east along the Potomac River, riding it to Brunswick, Maryland, six miles away.As it was a nice day, the towpath had quite a number of bike riders, runners and walkers on it. I quickly learned to call out to everyone that I approached that I'd be passing on the left. I also noticed that 19 out of 20 other riders seemed to be wearing bike helmets. OK, the last time I was on a bike, I don't think that the bike helmet had even been invented yet. So what's the deal, and why does everyone seem to have one? It's not a law or something that you have to have one now, is it? Clearly I have much to learn. And I guess I need to start wearing the helmet that my friend threw in with the bike.
Here's one of the locks that used to raise and lower the canal boats. This is Lock #31 just west of Brunswick. The old house is where the lock keeper and his family used to live.I made it into Brunswick in about half an hour...not bad for someone who hasn't ridden a bike in a ton of years. I had lunch at as little restaurant where everyone seemed to know each other--and one was actually named "Bubba"--and then I rode back, making the return trip in 28 minutes.
This is the view of the towpath and canal remnants approaching the Harpers Ferry trestle. It's amazing to think that the entire canal was dug by hand and all those rocks were put in place the same way, and that it was done over 184 miles from Cumberland, MD to Washington, DC, mostly by indentured workers and rented slaves.
Total miles ridden today: Twelve. I like this bike, and I think I'm going to like riding it. The only downside to the day was being here at Harpers Ferry without Lagniappe. We've always walked or run the towpath together and it kind of felt like I was cheating on him being out here by myself. But I know that I've got to stay fit and the only way to do it is to keep exercising. Much as I liked the bike ride though, it just wasn't the same without my buddy.
Here he is, back at the Lair, laying on the deck and surveying his realm...and probably wondering when he's going to get another biscuit or dish of ice cream.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Lagniappe update
My friend doesn't walk very good these days. The Degenerative Myleopathy is progressing fast. His hind legs aren't responding well any more and he sways and staggers like he's drunk.
Actually that's not true. I've seen him drunk and this is worse. He stumbles and falls constantly and every trip down the stairs is a nail-biter as I watch to see if he's going to go head-over-heels down the steps. His rear paws drag so severely that even a short walk on concrete will bloody the tops of them, so he's restricted to the house and the deck and his run in the yard now. No more walks around the neighborhood like we've enjoyed almost every day for so long. On his birthday last week I took him to Harpers Ferry for an ice cream cone at the Swiss Miss shop, and it was all he could do to make the short walk from the parking area to the store. And when we got there he wasn't able to stand up on his hind legs and look in the window like he's always done. He tried hard because he wanted his ice cream so bad but he just kept falling over because his once-powerful hind legs won't support him any more. Afterwards, we sat and I saw the people way up on the scenic overlook on Maryland Heights. Lagniappe and I have hiked up there dozens of times just to enjoy the view. It was a powerful milestone in my own rehab just a few years ago and Lagniappe helped motivate me to make that climb by making it look so easy. That overlook might as well be on the moon now, because we'll never make it up there together again.
But he's not down. Sure, he gets a bit moody sometimes, like when he tries to jump up on something and misses, or when he has an accident in the house, something that happens fairly often now that his nervous system is shutting down. But most other times he's still cheery and playful. He still walks up and gives me licks, and tonight he brought me his hedgehog and we played a bit of fetch with it. He still tries.
It's pathetic in a way; between the two of us we have three good legs. He helped me come back from my injury, but there's nothing I can do to help him. He's going to keep deteriorating and I know that I'm not going to have him much longer.
So we don't walk together any more. Now we sit on the deck together. I read books while he lays beside me and stares off into the yard, perhaps wondering why he can't run down there and chase cats and drive off the occasional stray dog any more. Sometimes I shell peanuts from a bag and give him half of them. He loves peanuts. And popcorn. He loves popcorn and we're going to share a bag tonight. He loves ice cream too, of course. Now he gets some almost every night. Why not? It is so wrong to indulge a friend and try to make him happy? And he is happy. His tail doesn't wag any more because those nerves are gone too now, but I can still see the light in his eyes when I talk to him and scratch his special sweet spot on his chest. He knows that I'm going to be here for him as much as I can for as long as we have, and he's not going to go through this alone. When I took this dog in eight years ago, I promised him that I'd always love him and care for him no matter what. I meant that then and I mean it now, and I believe that he knows it.
Our time together is growing short, but we're still a team. Friends forever.
Actually that's not true. I've seen him drunk and this is worse. He stumbles and falls constantly and every trip down the stairs is a nail-biter as I watch to see if he's going to go head-over-heels down the steps. His rear paws drag so severely that even a short walk on concrete will bloody the tops of them, so he's restricted to the house and the deck and his run in the yard now. No more walks around the neighborhood like we've enjoyed almost every day for so long. On his birthday last week I took him to Harpers Ferry for an ice cream cone at the Swiss Miss shop, and it was all he could do to make the short walk from the parking area to the store. And when we got there he wasn't able to stand up on his hind legs and look in the window like he's always done. He tried hard because he wanted his ice cream so bad but he just kept falling over because his once-powerful hind legs won't support him any more. Afterwards, we sat and I saw the people way up on the scenic overlook on Maryland Heights. Lagniappe and I have hiked up there dozens of times just to enjoy the view. It was a powerful milestone in my own rehab just a few years ago and Lagniappe helped motivate me to make that climb by making it look so easy. That overlook might as well be on the moon now, because we'll never make it up there together again.
But he's not down. Sure, he gets a bit moody sometimes, like when he tries to jump up on something and misses, or when he has an accident in the house, something that happens fairly often now that his nervous system is shutting down. But most other times he's still cheery and playful. He still walks up and gives me licks, and tonight he brought me his hedgehog and we played a bit of fetch with it. He still tries.
It's pathetic in a way; between the two of us we have three good legs. He helped me come back from my injury, but there's nothing I can do to help him. He's going to keep deteriorating and I know that I'm not going to have him much longer.
So we don't walk together any more. Now we sit on the deck together. I read books while he lays beside me and stares off into the yard, perhaps wondering why he can't run down there and chase cats and drive off the occasional stray dog any more. Sometimes I shell peanuts from a bag and give him half of them. He loves peanuts. And popcorn. He loves popcorn and we're going to share a bag tonight. He loves ice cream too, of course. Now he gets some almost every night. Why not? It is so wrong to indulge a friend and try to make him happy? And he is happy. His tail doesn't wag any more because those nerves are gone too now, but I can still see the light in his eyes when I talk to him and scratch his special sweet spot on his chest. He knows that I'm going to be here for him as much as I can for as long as we have, and he's not going to go through this alone. When I took this dog in eight years ago, I promised him that I'd always love him and care for him no matter what. I meant that then and I mean it now, and I believe that he knows it.
Our time together is growing short, but we're still a team. Friends forever.
Monday, August 23, 2010
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