REMEMBERING THE BIG RED DOG

Read our tribute to Jack here.

Change is like Puppy Poop

I woke up to the world about fifteen years ago and stopped reacting and began responding instead.  Suddenly, my heart was plugged in where once it was held back for safe keeping.  It was a primarily spiritual awakening, but it was emotional, too, as I’m convinced that our spiritual and emotional bodies are intrinsically linked.  I began to notice the repeated presence of certain animals almost immediately and gradually I realized each had symbolic and personal meaning.

We had a macaw from 2002 to 2005. He was a beautiful bird, had lots of personality and was very deep emotionally. He was also an intense task master who demanded my full attention. When I strayed, he bit me. Have you ever been bitten by a macaw?  It’s extremely painful.  His name was General, and he was one of my greatest teachers.  From then on, I saw birds everywhere. 

Wild parrots, a sign of the Goddess, are all over San Francisco.  I bumped into them frequently near the Embarcaderos where they took over a local park and on Dolores Street where they’d invaded palm trees. They were all over Connecticut, too, nesting in telephone poles and causing all sorts of trouble.   Hawks frequently circle the mountains near our home, and I can hear them vocalizing when I walk the dogs.  Great Blue Herons have been a personal spiritual signpost since I saw my first in the year 2000.  They affirm I am right where I should be.   While we lived in Connecticut, I worked on an enormous 1,500 person pharmaceutical campus in Wallingford, and every day on the way in, a Great Blue heron stood in the pond assuring me that even though I didn’t like being there, I was there for a reason.  Here, I was gifted with very special time with my grandmother.  Symbolically, birds are a sign of the intellect or thoughts, and they remind us to be watchful, particularly hawks with their visual acuity.  I believe they want to put us in touch with our blessings.

Dogs, on the other hand, are all feeling.  They understand the world through their nose, but they feel and communicate with their heart.  Jack, our Golden Retriever, was a very direct communicator, and when he needed to go out for a walk, he made direct eye contact with me and wouldn’t let up until I put my shoes on.  Daizy, our Boston Terrier, is quite cerebral, and when she wants something, like more food, she points to it with her nose. Of course, we saw the depth of her heart when she grieved over losing Jack, who recently passed away.  Teddy, the new puppy, is learning very quickly and uses his eyes, nose, paws, voice, and other bodily functions to communicate his needs quite effectively. He’s got all bases covered. 

A few night ago, as we drove homeward on highway 101 down the hill into Pacifica, I saw a coyote.  It was standing atop a bluff silhouetted by the dusk sky.  I hear plenty of coyotes singing at night, but I’ve never seen one. This was clear as day, however, and it caught my eye immediately.

The coyote is considered a trickster by native americans. He reminds us to tackle life’s challenges with a sense of humor, much like the Devil card in the tarot’s major arcana.  Some believe he brings shifts of balance and consequently an ending somewhere, representing the natural cycle of life and death.

The next morning, my grandmother passed away in her sleep.  In the 10 years she was in convalescent care, she fought raging UTI infections and sepsis, hallucinations brought on by powerful antibiotics, and increasingly intense dementia.  She’d returned from death’s door more times than I can count, but she left this world with little fanfare or drama. Her heart simply stopped as she slept, and she departed quietly and peacefully in the night.  Thelma’s death wasn’t unexpected, but it shifts the balance in my life a number of ways by closing the door on the past, yet urging me to remember how she helped me when I was a child. It puts me poignantly in touch with my gratitude. 

Thelma’s obituary was posted on line and whoever wrote it rendered her grandchildren (my brothers and I) anonymous despite our having played a major role in her later life.  There is a lot of water under that bridge. Floods. I found this incredibly irritating and most hurtful, and I started to get hung up on it.

While walking the dogs yesterday, I noticed two Red Tailed Hawks riding the drafts together and singing songs of companionship with screeches and chirps. They were beautiful.  Then, I lowered my head just in time to see a monarch butterfly cross in front of me.  When I looked up again, there were four hawks instead of just two, and they were singing and playing in pairs.  It was breathtaking and gave me pause. 

Like the coyote, the butterfly’s message is about evolution and change.  While they are beautiful, they pass through an entire lifecycle very quickly, embodying the ability to navigate change successfully.  In fact, change happens whether we want it to or not. It is best to roll with it, lest it roll right over us.  The hawks remind me to remain focused on what makes me happy, but not to the detriment of my responsibilities.  There is always the need to balance economics with creativity, which was something my grandmother was good at in her day, and something I struggle with currently.

So, what’s the short version here?  First, change, like puppy poop in the house, happens.  Accept it.  If you don’t watch for it, you’ll step in it.  If you do, don’t dwell on it, just deal with it.  Like puppies that get into everything, blessings are everywhere, but if your heart isn’t open, you’ll miss them.  We may not get what we want in life, but we’ll get what we need. This requires faith, which is another good reason to keep your heart open.  Life is a gift, and our time here is limited.  But, like the hawks and the butterfly, perhaps if we observe change, our blessings will double.

Eyes open.

Heart open.

Faith.

It’s all good.

In Memory of Jack

Our Golden Retriever, Jack (also known as Jack Boy, Jackson or most affectionately by Leslie as simply J.A.) came to us in December of 2005. He was a roly-poly Christmas puppy at only 8 weeks old.  His father was a raucous, leggy Golden, who banged and scrabbled at the back door when we saw him in Modesto. His mother was an elegant, almost regal canine, who watched us with accusatory eyes.  He was the last of the litter, and cried the first night we had him until Elizabeth climbed into the laundry basket with him. Jack was indescribably cute and perfectly puppy-like in all the right ways.  We adored him immediately.

Jack grew into a goat-sized adolescent quickly, as large breed puppies will do, and began to lose his downy coat.  As he changed, he gained in mischief what he lost in cuteness.  He got into absolutely everything, and trounced all over our 12 year old Golden, Casey, which caused her physical pain, so he spent much of his time in the kitchen behind a gate.  There he chewed up every cord he could find, destroyed numerous kitchen appliances before we could puppy proof the room, and shredded puppy pads thoroughly all over the floor. Jack was an escape artist, as well, and in our absence, once left the kitchen to torment our macaw, General.  General never recovered from that nerve wracking experience and had to move on to another home.  Constantly jumping, scratching and nipping, he was thoroughly exasperating and impossible. More than once, his ride in the car, however precarious for the driver, could have been his last. He almost made the trip straight to the SPCA.

In June of 2006 we moved to Connecticut, and Jack took his first ride in the belly of the beast, a giant 747 that was loud, cold, and terribly frightening.  We watched his crate move up the conveyor belt into the cargo bay through the window of the plane and could see he was trembling.  We worried about him through the flight, and when we picked him up at JFK’s cargo warehouse, he was brought out in his crate on a forklift.  Jiggling back and forth, he was clearly terrified.  However, we were certain he would bolt, so we didn’t let him out of his crate until we made it to the hotel in Connecticut. 

When we opened the crate, what emerged was a completely different dog.  In the hotel room, we kept his dog crate visible and it served as a behavioral reminder.  Jack watched it with one eye as though he expected it to wake up and swallow him again.  Large movements like opening the sofa bed for Elizabeth made him flinch.  But shortly he became focused, happy, extremely eager to please and prone to only the tiniest moments of fancy. He managed an impulsive escape once to run blissfully and happily through the halls of the Marriot Courtyard with Elizabeth running behind him.  Who could blame him?  What a glorious fiasco!  He co-existed peacefully with us in a hotel suite for three weeks before we were able to move.  It was an amazing transformation.

From that point forward, Jack grew into a prince. It was as if he emulated his rowdy father as a pup, and in his adulthood became more like his mother.

We were there living in Connecticut in 2006 when we got Daizy, and she was just a tiny loaf of bread. We introduced her to Jack carefully and he greeted her with gentle love.  Our home became their playground. When they played together, Jack tossed her about by the collar, and took her tiny head in his jaws without ever hurting her.  He would lay prone in order to level the playing field as she danced and yipped around him.  That was something he continued to do right until the end. Jack leveraged his size only when something tasty was at stake, and he’d simply put himself in the forefront and ensure Daizy didn’t have access until he was finished. They became a unit although they had vastly different personalities.  Jack was all heart, gentle and compliant, and Daizy is cerebral, willful and diligent.  Right up until the end, he tolerated her pushing him around incessantly, licking his ears obsessively, and getting into his bits and pieces whenever she felt like it.  Most recently, they wouldn’t be separated at the dog park, so Daizy navigated the big dog side with ease and confidence to be near him.  Jack wasn’t as social with other dogs as Daizy was and spent most of his dog park time exercising superior olfactory senses around the perimeter where other dogs wouldn’t bother him.  This was due to an encounter with an aggressive dalmation that bit his flank. He enjoyed his dog park time, and greeted all the humans enthusiastically, but he was cautious with other dogs. His memory was long.  He and Daizy would return to one another every so often muzzle to muzzle with deliberateness, and then go about their separate business again I image to relish the bountiful banquet of olfactory delights the dog park was.

Over the next three years, and thoroughly enjoying Daizy’s presence, Jack grew into an exemplary dog.  We left Connecticut, returned to California, and the mature Golden Retriever that returned with us wasn’t terrified to go back on the airplane, rather he was accepting of it.  He was a prince in the hotel, too.  Our family, humans and dogs alike, seemed to be truly in synch here in Pacifica, where he and Daizy had an almost 360 degree view of the outside, where together they went in the car almost every day, and where neighborhood dogs provided an even more delightful bouquet of smells and experiences. 

Leslie was acknowledged as the pack leader in our home.  The dogs both loved her dearly and wanted to be near her constantly.  They knew instinctively when it was time to get Elizabeth at school.  Jack demonstrated natural compassion by helping Leslie at the stairs.  She’s always had bad knees, and at times when climbing the stairs were difficult, Jack would ascend first, wait at the top, and extend his neck so she could hold his collar to step up.  He braced himself for her.  When she went to bed, they went to bed.   In fact, I was out of town once on business, and Jack slept on my side with his head on the pillow all night.  Next to being in the car, being on the big bed was his greatest joy.

Jack’s relationship with Elizabeth was particularly special; after all they’d grown up together. He treated her like a sister, although she had no fur and had two legs instead of four.  Daizy considers Elizabeth a bit of a nuisance, but Jack only wanted to make her happy.  He got better walking on the leash, learned tricks, and bestowed smooches simply to please her. He even posed deliberately for photo sessions with her iPhone (yes, he was a poser!).  Once at the dog park we saw a completely different side of Jack.  A big black dog approached Elizabeth who was standing next to me, and for some reason Jack considered it a threat.  He came between the two of us with tremendous intent, rushed at the dog growling, and then acted proud of what he’d done.  They say dogs can read energy, so only he would know what the danger might have been.  But we didn't get angry with him. He was expressing his love.

Seating was of particular concern to Jack, and I wonder if it wasn’t some sort of pecking order he observed.  If he couldn’t have his place on the couch each evening, he’d sulk deliberately, or stare wide eyed at Leslie until she couldn’t’ stand it any longer and made seating adjustments to accommodate him. He always had to have the second passenger seat in the car, as well.  Once we drove to Los Angeles and made him a big space in the back of the van so he could stretch out.  He chose instead to remain curled up like a croissant on the second passenger seat next to Elizabeth for the entire 7 hour trip, moving only when we walked him, which was frequently.

Jack would spend his mornings and evenings lounging on his couch, with his head resting on the arm so he could stare at Leslie sitting in her lounge chair.  He demanded his toast every morning, as well, so we gave it to him.  Although Elizabeth was the exception, he wasn’t much of a kisser, and rather gave full body hugs using the length of his torso.  Jack wasn’t crazy about dog cookies, most times couldn’t care less, but he ate them so not to be outdone by Daizy.  He wasn’t much of a barker either, but turned into one at Daizy’s insistence.  Jack hated to be left home during the day, and if he didn’t get his daily time in the car, he would brood and sulk again.  But car time was his favorite thing, just like being on the big bed, and he would sit in the passenger seat with his nose at the open window, smelling the world, and closing his eyes in canine bliss. His intense happiness was completely sincere and a sight to behold. 

We considered Jack a prince, and he was in every way, fully matured and having left his troubled youth behind him.  He had one weakness. He ate toys. Not all the time, but in less than a four year period, he needed two major abdominal surgeries to clear blockage.  The first was just as we were leaving Connecticut, and the second was here in California less than two years ago.

Last Friday, Jack began vomiting. It wasn’t alarming initially, but within a day it was symptomatic of GI blockage, so off to the vet we went. He took a turn for the worse a day later after receiving his true diagnosis.  A sizable portion of Jack’s large intestine had telescoped or turned in on itself, shutting down his GI system, and accumulating toxins quickly.  The doctor said he had an infection, as well, but the root of the problem was scarring from previous surgeries. 

As a family, we made a hard decision to spare Jack the numerous painful surgeries that would be a gateway to a severely decreased quality of life. We cried a lot, but came together at the vet’s office to say our final good-byes.  It was obvious Jack was in pain.  His flame seemed to be barely flickering and even his coat, usually shiny and luxuriant, seemed muted.  He took his special time with Elizabeth, resting his head in her lap as she said her farewells.  When the doctor arrived with the syringes, he was compliant.  Jack actually liked the doctor, gave him hugs despite being sick, and knew he was being helped.  He laid down on his side willingly, his head still up, and we all thanked him for being good to us.  When he fell asleep, his head gently held by the nurse went limp, and Elizabeth began sobbing.  Soon we were all sobbing and reluctant to leave him even though the deed had been done.  He looked like he was only sleeping.

In the car, Leslie extended Jack’s collar to Daizy. Obviously, she knew something was going on.  She sniffed it up and down with focus and determination and must have learned everything she needed to know because she wastes no time looking for him.  She hasn’t shirked her protective duties, and she checks in with each of us from time to time.  We’ve noticed she misses the affection he gave her, and the physical contact. So, she’s taken to falling asleep on my chest in the mornings.  Daizy and Jack are two completely different dogs, one made of the heart, the other of brains, and I wonder how she will evolve in his absence. She’s a big dog in a small package, but she’s always had his companionship.  I think another dog in the house would make her happy.

The space Jack left behind in our family and our home is huge.  We all miss him terribly.  I’ve never been a dog person, but I got to know Jack.  I feel his absence poignantly appreciating that he didn’t’ start out the Prince he was went he left us.  It took patience, process and the passage of time to turn him into the wonderful dog he was. Jack made quite an impression on me, and I can’t escape the feeling of loss he left behind.  I wish I could because I hate it.  Elizabeth wears his tags around her neck on a chain, and the rest of his jewelry is hanging on the rear view window of the van. He’ll be given a private cremation, and we’ll receive his remains in a sweet little urn that will have his photo on it.

We’re not sure how we’re supposed to get used to being without him yet.  But time is relentless. When you lose someone you love, it feels like time should stop. But it doesn’t.  Instead, time marches on, and ironically heals with an unending measure of days, weeks and months.

Jack, we’ll miss you terribly.  

Good voyage, dear one, and thank you for loving us.

Rest in Peace, dear Jack Boy

Elizabeth wrote this piece for Jack when she was 11 years old. I'm working on a memorium blogpost, but this is so sweet and entirely appropriate.  We miss you, Jack.

❤

Desert Dog
by Liz Faber

In his eyes
a desert
at night
a ring of ebony
another
of shining gold
none of them perfect
all jagged
never perfect
but always.

When you look at him
you see an old mutt
his face white
the rest a worn out rust
but when you feel him
you feel a puppy
his smile so pure
drool dripping off
his rough tongue

His life
a journey
a maze
started out
in a desert
but somehow
got to me
I don't know how
only he
my puppy
my old dog
knows the secret

His mother
the sun
his father
the moon
his brothers
the sand.

But there's one thing
that I know
he's my puppy
my old man
my dog
and I love him.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN ...

Last week was intense. Leslie’s oral surgery on Tuesday was more difficult than we thought. The infection spread and the doctor had to traumatize much of the flesh around the original tooth to clean it up. Of course, we didn’t hear about this until her post-op appointment on Friday, and a large bruise had blossomed across her chin. By the time yesterday rolled around, she was more than ready to hit the road. Elizabeth bounced off the walls. Birthday money burned a hole in her wallet, so to her this is an extended shopping trip. Yesterday was all about prep for me, i.e., getting ready to leave. But it’s been years since we just took off like this, and I was eager for it, as well.

Worried

As we left the concentrated Bay Area, Jack (the big dog) got visibly worried. Our bags were packed, and to him it meant going on an airplane, which is his least favorite thing. There are monsters in the belly of an airplane, you know, and they are very, very loud. We made plenty of room for him and Daizy in the back of the van, but he categorically refused to use it. Instead he kept himself rolled into a tight donut on the passenger seat next to Elizabeth. We got our groove on, as the wheels turned beneath us, and Elizabeth found the perfect road trip music by an artist who has “really good hair”.

A lot has changed on Highway 5 since last we drove this stretch 10 years ago. There is so much development, grapevines that weren’t there, and cell phone reception all the way down the line, too! We bumped into a group of macaws making their way home from San Mateo. The scenery passed by, lush and fertile green hills speckled with cattle, sheep, and spring lambs. I found it soothing. Harris Ranch was an olfactory treat for the dogs, and Jack sat up and lifted his nose straight into the air. Livermore Labs was a curious combination of technology and agriculture. Elizabeth was fascinated. Leslie is always happiest when she is moving forward.

I’ve had a rough year and a half.

To me, being on the road felt like freedom.