How's Penny and Leaving Las Vegas

My mother wants to know how her dog Penny is doing. At this moment the doctors are feeding her oxygen. She's had ten inches of her colon removed, has suffered a post-surgical stroke, and her resting heart rate sometimes reaches over 200 beats per minute. She is holed up a mere three miles from the Las Vegas strip. When last I saw here, she had countless tubes inserted into her veins. She's definitely being tortured for her own good I suppose. Such medical care is undignified at best. A one-way trip to the pound for our pets is a better deal.

"We know you are suffering," we tell our pets. "We know you don't understand, and your chances for recovery are nil." We cry, maybe we even purchase an urn with "Fido" on it. A moment of fear-- a quick injection, and we weep.

Think it's better to fight the good fight? Medical care provides us miracles? Trust me on this. Better to go out like James Dean or Elvis on the toilet than the torture involved with being near 80 and recovering from years of self-induced bodily abuse and surgical miracles.

Think you can beat the odds of a torturous death by being the absolute ruler of more than half-a-billion souls? Stalin died without medical care because his underlings were afraid to act when he'd suffered a stroke. They didn't want to be murdered for doing the wrong thing.

Et tu, Brute?

Think your faith will save you from an ignoble end, whether that faith is religious or otherwise? Maybe being crucified upside down or burned at the stake rings a bell. Trotsky was dispatched with an axe.

Is it more humane to put us off onto an iceberg to make peace with our God and fall asleep? Should we all opt for a trip to the pound to be made into Soylent Green?

I'm trying to understand all this. My mother was always the prettiest mom around when I was a kid. I didn't know anything was odd about my upbringing. I thought every kid's mom taught them to play blackjack in first grade. I thought every mom drove a Corvette or a pink T-Bird. Wouldn't every mom who got mad at her husband throw a rock through his car window?

Penny is all right by the way. My sister has her. My sister too, despite being a woman of great ability, aptitude, and patience is kind of lost about our mom's illness.

We don't feel we're getting an idea of the odds of recovery. Oh, yeah-- this is Vegas. What's the odds of her making it? Is it like rolling a ten before crapping out? Like double-zero on the roulette wheel? What's a better bet-- is it that you'll come off the slots ahead after a wild Vegas weekend or that my mom's gonna make it? Maybe the slogan of "What goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas" isn't such a cool thing. I don't want to go in Vegas. Don't die in Vegas. Leave it.

Being human is a burden-- as is being humane.

I don't know the morale of this story. I don't know if there is one. I'm wandering about kind of lost right now. I know, for good or bad, that my mother was this unbelievable life force. She could as often be unreasonable and petty as kind. She regretted nothing I think, and yet spent some considerable time trying to make up for what she put her children through. She's borderline type-2 diabetic, missing a considerable portion of her colon, lost mobility even before the stroke, can't swallow, and is going to be fed with a tube. Yet I truly believe if you had told her all this 50 years ago, it wouldn't have changed her a bit. She'd have been travelling with her big gulp glass full of vodka and downing nary a vegetable no matter what. I expect she thought she'd die riding a motorcycle.

Penny is all right mom, and she misses you.

Dog Shirts-- No Phone-- Instant Gratification

I haven't written this blog for nearly a month. In that time I've been to Hawaii, spent a week without home phone service, and put a shirt on my dog. To show how clever I am, I will tie this all together in a neat little knot by the end.

Almost no one gets good cell phone reception at my house. So a week ago today my home phone went dead. I was virtually stuck without a phone. AT&T, who we called immediately upon learning that we had no phone, told us we would have our service back by Saturday. On Saturday, we were told that Tuesday we would get service. On Tuesday, when the phone didn't work, we were assured that the problem was in our lines and not their problem. I had to go outside and open up the box and check it out. Finally, on Wednesday, a great technician came out before 8:30 in the morning, and worked past 5:00 p.m. fixing AT&T's lines that were messed up.

I have no expectation that anyone at AT&T short of the tech who came by really gives a damn that they gave me the run-around. Still, I will probably waste my time writing a nasty note.

While I was in Hawaii my daughter Kirsten,stayed in California with her husband, Anika my granddaughter, and her dog, my dog, and my other daughter's dog. During that time she bought my female dog, Lulu, a shirt.
The shirt says "Got Treats?" It's pretty cute but I never thought my dog would allow us to put a shirt on her. Well I guess she's cold. She comes right over to me and allows me to put the shirt on without embarassment. Now that is instant gratification. Making your dog look silly or cute is fun. Instantly.

We live in a society that doesn't want to wait. That's what makes dealing with phone companies, computer techs on the phone, and lines at Disneyland such a drag. The corporate world could care less about your time. Call a computer tech when your p.c. doesn't fire and ask for some help.

"Dou-ba cleek on yer star boton."
"What?"
"Yer star buton."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand you."
"Star buton, star boton."
Five minutes later you get "Start button" out of that.
It's not the tech's fault. He speaks better English than you probably. But you can't get his accent. Think Dell or HP or anyone cares?
Not likely.

That's what makes Hawaii a really cool place to visit. Especially when it's freezing even in California. There's an immediate hit of warmth and exoticism in the place. Sit still an hour and there's a vine growing over you. The ocean is always warm. It's a now thing. You don't have to travel to the museum, or the four star restaurant. Arrive at the airport and you are there.

Dogs too, give an immediate joy to life. They'll chase their tail. They'll wear a hat if you make them. They'll sit around all day with a feather stuck on their nose.

We like life without complications. Moreso now than ever because the world has gotten so damn complicated. When you wait a week for a guy to come over and fix your phone, you don't want to wait ten minutes for your computer to load.

We like slogans. "Where's the beef?"
"Are you ready for some football?"
"Wha's up?"

We want our politicians to fix the messes now. Two years to repair our economy?  Too long. I'm gonna vote next time for a politician who knows what I want-- someone who says "You betcha."

We don't even value our words anymore. Just the sound of a word is enough to cause a storm of protest. If the first three letters suggest another offensive word-even if the meaning is totally different, you can't use the original word. I won't go into it for fear of putting off the audience, but think about it.

Give me a dog in a funny hat and a trip to Hawaii. That's really simple and I get it.

Limping Lulu

My Lulu is limping. She is favoring her left hind leg. We took her to the vet and the vet says there is no real danger or anything that needs to be addressed immediately, and Lulu seems not to even know she's supposed to limp when there's something exciting going on. Still, she's eight and one-half. She's getting older.

Lynn, my fantastic wife said she never even thought of Lulu as an older dog. Lulu is still playful, loves walks (she doesn't limp during those) and patrols our large yard like a champ, even when she sometimes has to do it on three legs.

Eight years ago I had to put our Scottish Terrier down because he couldn't work his hind legs. He was in great pain and couldn't do much but moan and poop on himself.

Putting your animal to sleep is an awful thing. It seems such a betrayal of their trust. I've done it twice and watched it once. With our dog Pearl we couldn't even stand to be present and I truly regret this.

While at the vet's the other day, there was a dog who was going to be put to sleep in the waiting room. He couldn't work his hind legs in any way other than to keep himself in a permanent squat, yet he still showed curiousity and spunk. His owner used a walker, and the irony of the situation was sad.

Dogs bring such joy, but unfortunately, they don't outlive their owners. It's a shame they don't just check out when we do.

I'm hoping with rest and care that this limping will resolve itself. It's been on and off for awhile now. I hope it doesn't develop into something worse. Our responsibilities as pet owners can sometimes be sad. Putting a dog to sleep is something you never forget.

Now, my dog Maurice dropped dead trying to run away. He was sick we knew, but comfortable and well-loved. He loved to explore, and so he sauntered off down our driveway seemingly headed for a jaunt around the neighborhood. When I called him back, he dropped dead. God bless his weak little heart. Hope I go the same way.

Nice To Meet You Baby.

My new granddaughter Holland is surrounded by a group of dogs. There's Moo, who we consider her brother; Lulu, her aunt; and Xena, her cousin. I know it sounds silly, but there you go.

Each dog had its own particular method of first meeting the baby. Moo decided to lick Holly's head at first. Lulu ran about the room acting like she had lots to do and worry about because a baby had arrived; and Xena, with a tail that could knock you off your feet, held her tail in check and licked baby's feet upon first meeting the baby.

I think it's fabulous how understanding dogs are of small children. Of course, I am not overlooking the rare occasions when dogs attack kids. It happens. Even a Scottish Terrier I owned nipped my granddaughter Anika when she was small. That dog was a handful, but to be fair, Anika tried to pull a blanket out from under the dog and I think he got scared.

I recently heard about a dog that "kidnapped" a baby to take to the woods to care for it. Luckily the child did not die but problems did occur due to the dog's mothering instinct.

Don't worry. I don't think dogs should be left alone with children. I do think they are a great addition to the life of our kids though.

Unfortunately, in this day and time, I don't think kids really get the relationships we older folks had with our animals. Playing outside is becoming something you have to tell kids to do today. God knows, if I had video games, the internet, and 120 channels on the tube, I never would've gone out either.

We had three channels when I was a kid. On Saturday mornings, there was a smoking cowboy with a pencil thin mustache on tv who ran old cowboy flicks all morning long. My grandmother had to kick me out of the house cause I'd watch cowboys named Johnny Mack and Buck ride all over the same So Cal backlot for hours on end. (Funny, the transmitter for that station was located in Tijuana and the backlot probably housed the Manson family in the 1970's.)

We had two dogs at my grandparents' house in La Mesa. First came Mack, a standard-sized collie that would follow me about the yard. Then came Beau, a standard-sized poddle. It wasn't so much that I played with them, but they followed me about my grandparents' huge yard. They owned about 2/3 of an acre and I roamed it as if it were the size of Hearst's place in San Simeon. There were Eucalyptus trees to climb, a pepper tree that hid an area for a fortress, and a six-foot wall my grandfather built that made a great fort. I used to man the walls, holding off Indians (sorry, Native Americans), redcoats, and other nasties with a Eucalyptus branch shaped like a musket. Some years later I went back to my grandparents, found that branch and you know what? It didn't really resemble a musket at all.

Ah, the loss of innocence.

Welcome Holly. Welcome to a world where dogs lick your toes, where tree limbs look like magic wands, and where all boys want to be cowboys and all girls want to be ballerinas. You're a lucky little girl. I hope you have wonderful imaginings. Remember, a dog can be a guest at your tea party.

The Dog Is More Spiritually Evolved I'm Sure.

You know, I have my regrets. If only I could apologize for everything I've screwed up in near 60 years. It's an ego thing I'm sure. I am so freaking needy.
Dogs have no regrets. And most of the time they have no ego.
This makes them more "Zen" than I am I'm sure.

I'm not a member of AA. I'm not an alcoholic, but I do know that one of the 12 steps is to apologize to those you have wounded.

I'm sorry.

Why is my dog so cool and I'm so lame?

How can that be? I have free will. I have an intelligence that is greater than the poochy mind of my animal. Yet she wanders about the yard, free of guilt. Free of regret. Free.

No she can't open the gate and leave. She can't take off and wander the open space down the street. But she has no mortgage. She has no fear that someday she will run into someone she once knew and that person will say, "you know, you were a real jerk to me."

There is a door that one can walk through at St. Peter's in the Vatican. It is open like once every 100 years or so. Maybe once a millennium.

If you walk through this door supposedly all your sins are forgiven. Now I have seen the door, but I missed my chance to pass through it in 2000. What a shame.

Had my dog been born, and in Rome, she could have passed the door without sin. She could cast the first stone. She doesn't though. Not only is she without sin-- she is without the concept. She forgives. Devine!

Dogs are such better people than we are.

How Is a Pea-Brain Supposed to Remember All These Passwords

I'm hopeless. How can I remember every freaking password I come up with? Come on. I've been locked out of my own blog for awhile now. I couldn't remember my password. I couldn't remember my G-mail password. I have a new granddaughter, a dog who needs a bath, and not a scrap of real energy

Sometimes I get on the floor at night if I'm too hyped to relax so I don't wreck my wife's sleep by being too jumpy in bed. Sometimes the dog lies next to me. Often not. She loves her dog bed. I have often thought of joining her there.

Lulu, my dog, met the baby for the first time ten days or so ago. I'm always so amazed at an animal's understanding of the needs of infants. Lulu went crazy with concern when she first met Holly. She was a bundle of nerves, moving about, looking in on the baby every few seconds. When my daughter went to feed Holly in the spare bedroom, Lulu checked in on her, and later, after she left, she spent some time in that bedroom looking concerned.

In a world gone mad, where we often forget about compassion, dogs have it right. Perhaps instead of humans for president, we should choose a dog. Maybe they should have the beds and we should have the floors.

NEW PUPPY HAS ARRIVED!

Lulu is a new aunt to Holland Joanna Fowler. Grandparents are thrilled.