Pablo Picasso the artist-- and Rover the Dog

I remember the names of all my dogs and their personalities. My memory of my old classmates from high school is a little hazy though. So there is a class reunion going on for my high school next month, and a classmate of mine, Shelley friended me on Facebook.

Shelley and I were never an item. She's definitely a dish, even now-- but something always seemed to interfere with spending time with her back then. Once I went to see her in my old Corvair. The cops gave me a ticket because my engine was smoking so bad. I had to drive the car home and get it off the road. Another time I saw her I was on the verge of quitting college, leaving home, and moving from San Diego to San Francisco. It all worked out. I've got a great family and a good life.


Last year I lost my job at the US Postal Service. I hated the Postal Service and my job. I had no respect for the management and they had no respect for me. Because of an on-the-job injury, I couldn't carry mail, so they booted me out of the office job they'd created for me. Employing me might have led to the insolvency of the USPS. Heaven forbid.

Being let go from a crappy job might be worse than losing a good one. When I lost my numb skull job, I wondered just how pathetic I had become. Depression set in. I slept, played Farmville, and sat in my hot tub and smoked cigars. I didn't do much even though I had a lot of time. I just marked time, and at near 60, my swagger disappeared. (I've always been way too needy I suppose.)

Consequently, I have begun to examine just what I have accomplished in my life. I admit to all the excesses of youth and more than my share of selfishness. But have I left anything of value?

I'm going to try to tie this all together now. My constant readers, all three of you, are aware of the leaps I take in these blogs. I'm asking you to accept another leap.

My wife and I went to see a Picasso exhibit at the De Young Museum in San Francisco last Sunday. I am not a fan of Picasso. I wasn't keen on him before the exhibit, and am even less impressed now. I like art. I love impressionist art. I love Renaissance art. I find Picasso's art mean-spirited and usually ugly. I know his reputation. I know his imprint upon modern art. He just angers me.

So, Picasso from Heaven can look down and feel fulfilled because he created I suppose.

I don't know what I've left to speak for myself. Some short stories, articles, some good feelings and love. I never cured cancer or volunteered at a soup kitchen.

I like Nabokov, who wrote the novel "Lolita." It is a brilliant novel, as are his other works. But despite all his brilliance, he will be known mostly as the guy who wrote about the love of an older man for a pre-teen girl. Does he get a pass to Heaven?

Is Larry Flynt accomplished because of his fight for journalistic freedom?

When he was alive, did J.D. Salinger feel accomplished, or did he wonder if the Great American Novel and a couple of handfuls of short stories really were all he could have done with his talent?

The tennis player, Bjorn Borg made his biggest splash in life by the age of 21. It's been all downhill for him since then.

I don't have the answers to the questions I might be asking. I wish I did.

I remember my dogs. They came through for me and others.

I remember Shelley from high school. And Jackie Landis and Ron Walashek and Karen Riggs and John Belik. Something special about them made an imprint on my feeble memory.

Some of these people remember me. I hope they judge me favorably. I guess that's the best one can wish for.

Bullying Dog Style-- Google's Ad Campaign

I don't bully-- I sleep and watch tv.

So, Google has an ad campaign on television now that is about bullying-- especially the bullying of gay persons. In my effort to at least mention dogs in each of these posts, I'd like to tell you about my dog, (now deceased) Maurice.

Early on, when we moved to the house where we live now, the dog next door came under the fence and chewed up Maurice. He had open wounds, needed stitches, and was altogether in a bad way. Maurice was a lab mix, on the small side-- not a fighter at all, even though he was a trifle grumpy at times.

After the mauling, while Maurice made a full recovery, but he could not be around loose dogs without taking grief. Some fear component in him made itself apparent to the dogs around, and running loose on a beach for example, led to him being bitten. I felt bad for him. He never had problems around dogs before, and here he was, suddenly a target.

I'd been the target of bullying now and again. It's pretty awful. I suppose a time or two as a teen, I'd even bullied some myself. I remember fighting some guy at the mall just because he was there. He cut my eyelid with his fingernail during the fight. I bleed like a stuck pig. Served me right. The next year at school I apologized to this guy for my being such an ass. That apology was probably as enlightened as I ever was as a teenager.

Bullying is a rotten, demeaning, miserable thing. You'd be surprised at my politics, so don't pigeon-hole me quite yet. I have a problem with gay politics, as much as I have a problem with Rush Limbaugh. Everyone gets bullied in high school. Every group has to endure bullying. That doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it easier for gay people, or any other group. It doesn't build toughness. It doesn't build character. It leads to heartbreak, depression, and even suicide.

Some people just don't want to fight. They don't want to defend themselves, or their characters just because they are perceived as different. Again, bullying does not build character.

There's a show on MTV2 called "Bully Beatdown." People who are the subject of bullying send an appeal to the show in an effort to stop their suffering. Always the bullies are totally deluded. They've broken the arms of the victims, thrown them down stairs, caused damages to eyes, skulls, and all limbs. Often they feel they are teaching their victims a lesson by toughening-up the always smaller, less aggressive, and usually unsuspecting victims.

A guy named Mayhem hosts the show. He was a mixed martial arts fighter who had won over thirty matches. He is a bad ass, and he had been bullied himself as a kid. Mayhem brings in one of his fighters to challenge the bully in the "cage." The deluded bully always thinks he's going to beat up the mixed martial arts professional, and if he can, he can win up to $10,000. I've seen some pretty bad ass bullies on that show. Even when they manage to win any of the money in the two rounds of fighting, they usually pay a heavy price in damage to their bodies. And always, the beating they take leads to an apology to the people they have bullied. Funny what changes a couple of serious kicks to the liver and minor concussions can bring about.

Unfortunately, when the bully gets his ass kicked on the show, it is again-- bullying. On one show, Mayhem, who is usually just a host, actually fights the bully himself. I've never seen anyone get their ass kicked that bad. The bully ends up losing the whole ten grand and gets beat senseless on top of it.

Look, even if you are a Bible thumper who detests the sin of gay sex, gay people don't deserve the scorn people heap upon them. Even if you think your victims are characterless, offensive, and miserable blots upon the universe, please, don't bully them. Hate the sin, not the sinner. Jesus only attacked the money changers at the Temple, not the prostitutes.

Being bullied has so many consequences other than a split lip. Do unto others etc. Walk a mile in another's shoes. Just stop. You don't have to be a teen to be a bully, but you can stop the cycle no matter what age you are. Don't judge. Don't cast the first stone.

Think those sarcastic comments to your nephew about his hair or dress is going unnoticed. They're not. Give the kid a break, he's going through enough just trying to fit in.

Kudos to Google.

Are Dogs the Perfect Humans

It's been nearly two months since I posted here. My mother, who was hospitalized in late January, is... well, alive and kicking. She had serious surgery that nearly killed her. Now she is in a care facility that luckily has two dogs. She misses her own dog, but at least she has friends.

This picture is of a dog that rode the Funicula on the Isle of Capri. The story of this fellow was the subject of one of my first blogs here.

So, I get the Dog/God thing. So are dogs more renaissance creatures than humans?

Certainly they're not cynical. They are always hopeful. Maybe, just maybe you'll drop that cube of butter or that rack of spareribs off the barbecue. They're always surprised when you come home. Well, maybe they're always happy to see you anyway. They forgive. They don't start wars or invade countries. While they may engage in dominant behavior, come on, it all makes some kind of doggy sense to set up a social network that is understandable.  

There's a show on television about how dogs changed the world. They were mankind's early warning systems. Thug the Caveman couldn't sneak up on your tribe if you had a dog around. They kept the camp clean. They were man's best friend since before recorded history.

I feel a little goofy writing this today. I've been writing on a novel which is long form, and I know this is disjointed perhaps, but I need to get back on the horse. So here I am.

What if dogs really played poker?
Ah, that reminds me of a joke my wife's father told me.
I'm sure I've used it here before. I don't hear a lot of new jokes anymore.

So my dog plays poker but he's not very good at it.
Why?
Because every time he gets a good hand, he wags his tail.

I know this anyway. If dogs played poker, after they won all your chips, I'm pretty sure they'd return them. Especially if they could fetch them.

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.