Lucy's Six Week Report Card

We have had Lucy for six weeks now. If she were in school it would be about time for a report card. Hmmm. Let’s see now, I wonder what that report card would look like?

Gets along well with others.  A

Follows instructions. B+

Exercises self-control. C-

Respects the furniture of others. A

Bathroom etiquette. A-

Table manners. A+

Respects landscaping in the backyard when left to roam freely. F-

Exudes self-confidence upon introduction to new things. F-

Yes, this amazing puppy only seems to have three flaws. The first involves her reaction upon meeting guests in our home. It’s as if she has been transported to the world headquarters of Dog Ecstasy Inc. She becomes overjoyed to the point of hysteria. It takes her a full five minuets to calm down from death-com level five to mere annoyance level two.

Lucy’s second flaw is her world class skittishness. I’ve spoken about this before and it has gotten better. Just the other day an acorn fell and she did NOT jump a foot in the air in response. But she still flees in terror at the introduction of anything larger than a breadbox into the room. Poor thing has a particular problem with the color black, so I suppose I now own my second consecutive racist retriever.

 The last flaw with  Lucy is a new one for us. None of our two previous Goldens suffered with the predilection for…digging. Yes, Lucy enjoys nothing quite so much as a vigorous digging session in the back yard. This is especially lovely when it has recently rained and she presents herself at the backdoor to be let back in, her front paws covered in mud. Of course the problem is catching her in the act. When we are with her she doesn’t dig. So, I open the floor to anyone who has dealt with an excavating dog before for any suggestions for how we can break her of this habit. My only idea is to pick her favorite dig spot and place a pressure sensitive, spring loaded boxing glove down in the hole and let her have at it! I figure that getting unexpectedly punched in the nose by a BLACK boxing glove might do the trick, but I’m sure that modern dog behavior theory would be appalled at such brutality. So, any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Lucy isn’t perfect, but she’s awfully close. We love her to pieces.

A Bad Weekend to be in the Military

The Mayor of Ferguson, Missouri is warning his constituents to “prepare for the worst” ahead of the impending release of the grand jury report into the death of Michael Brown. That State’s National Guard is on high alert.

Late Friday afternoon, a column of 32 Russian tanks, 16 howitzers, supply trucks and troops were spotted pouring across the Ukrainian border.

Also late Friday afternoon, President Obama made the decision to send 1,500 additional troops into Iraq, a doubling of our presence there dedicated to our war with ISIS. You remember the ISIS war, right?

Decorated Navy Seal, Rob O’Neill has abandoned the ethos of that famously private fighting fraternity by going public with the account of his exploits in killing Bin Laden. This “cashing in” and shameless self-promotion has resulted in the Seal community turning their backs on one of their most decorated alumni.

It’s not a good weekend to be in the military.

Actually, it’s probably never a good weekend to be in the military. God knows what the idiot politicians are going to ask them to do next. Imagine how the poor soldiers stuck in Liberia feel. I’m pretty sure that trying to prevent a health pandemic from breaking out…in another country… wasn’t what they had in mind when they signed up with Uncle Sam. But hey, this is the 21st century, and soldiers must now multi-task.

Here’s my prayer for them today…May we produce civilian leaders who are worthy to lead such honorable men and women.

The Fury

Pam had a “ladies night” with the White girls last night. They do this every couple of months or so. This time it was to celebrate Lori’s birthday. It’s the sort of thing that sounds dreadful to me, going out to some restaurant and talking for three hours. But they always have a great time together and it keeps the sisters close making it a worthwhile endeavor.

For me these ladies nights mean that I must feed and occupy myself for the evening. Most of the time I eat dinner at Big Al’s and watch a game. Last night, I decided to go see a movie that I’ve wanted to see but that I know that Pam would hate…The Fury. Best decision I’ve ever made. Pam would have spent the entire time in the fetal position.

As a History major, I have always had a certain obsession with World War II. Everything about that conflict and that time fascinates me. The dominant personalities, the ideologies, the grand sweep of the thing captivates me. Add to that the fact that my mother’s oldest brother John drove a tank for Patton’s army, and you can understand perhaps my desire to see this movie about one Sherman tank crew in the final days of the war, despite the presence of the talentless Brad Pitt.

The film was gut-wrenching. Five men inside a Sherman tank is the stuff of claustrophobic nightmares. This particular crew, having survived together all the way from North Africa to the waning days inside Nazi Germany, is as grizzled a group of men as I have ever seen depicted on film. The horrors of the war have transformed them all, almost completely taking away their humanity. They have come to the dark place of rabid hatred for the enemy, a natural disposition I suppose for one’s lucky enough to survive more than the average 26 combat days lifespan for tank crews. Although their souls have been hollowed out by their experiences, they summon the courage required to make a heroic stand at the end. Their sacrifice wasn’t simply for each other, but for something that they all sensed was bigger than themselves. Knowing that they were all doomed, one of the characters says, “This is a righteous thing we’re about to do,” then quotes from scripture, “And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, Whom shall I send and who shall go for us? And I said, here am I. Send me.” It’s the most moving scene in the film.

As I watched, I couldn’t help but think of my Uncle John. My mother used to always tell us that John was a different person when he returned from the war, totally transformed in personality and disposition. No freaking kidding! The fact that John came home at all was nothing short of a miracle, the fact that he didn’t end up in an insane asylum, a tribute to mental toughness on a scale with which I am not familiar. Instead of being declared a victim of PTSD, he came home, got a job, got married and raised a family, all the while harboring private, unspeakable nightmares that must have plagued him for the rest of his life.

There is a line in this film that sticks with me this morning. Pitt’s character takes his new 18 year old replacement gunner into the living room of a wealthy German family in a freshly liberated town. All four aristocratically dressed Nazi party members had shot themselves in the head rather than be taken by the Americans. The kid asks WarDaddy, “Why are you showing me this?” WarDaddy answers, “Because ideology is peaceful, history is violent.”

It is the conceit of many in this generation to believe that we as a species have somehow evolved away from brutality. Some politicians are fond of saying that war is a remnant of a bygone, less enlightened era, so twentieth century. My understanding of history tells me otherwise. The vast majority of man’s story is one of violence, and conquest. Our experiment with representative democracy is but a mist in the wind of human history. War and warriors will always be with us. To think otherwise is vanity. But, to pursue war, to glory in it is an abomination.

Book News and a Lucy Story

My first excursion into self-publishing is nearing the finishing line and I’m getting rather jacked about the prospect. Several months ago I shared with you my plans for a book about the last two years of caring for my Dad after Mom passed away. Since then I have put the finishing touches on the thing and am now in the process of designing the cover and getting it printed. It has been at turns frustrating and invigorating. The writing was easy, reliving it all wasn’t, but everything else about the process has taken me out of my comfort zone. The editing, proofreading, and formatting have seemed interminable, but I possess the patience of a gnat about the details of life.

 The plan is to have a couple hundred paperbacks printed for those who prefer the dead tree version, while simultaneously offering an e-Book version for sale on Amazon. If I sell enough of either to recoup my investment I will be deliriously happy. If not, I will still be happy because I will have done the thing. I will have produced something worthy of my parents as a tribute to not only them, but the amazing family who cared for them so long and so well.

The name of the book is Finishing Well.

On a completely unrelated note, Lucy has discovered something new to add to the list of things that freak her out. A lawn sprinkler. Yesterday, the folks from Virginia Green showed up and laid down some fertilizer with instructions to water the lawn for thirty minutes before the end of the day. I broke out the sprinkler, set it first in the back yard and turned it on as I was instructed. After dark I let Lucy into the back yard for her evening constitutional, forgetting that the sprinkler was in the yard. She bounded down the steps in her usual spastic, wildly expectant way only to practically jump out of her little puppy skin upon discovery of the sprinkler beast attached to the horrible hose-monster! Oh. My. Word. The poor dog was convinced that this devise was of the devil and meant her great harm. Needless to say, there would be no peeing or pooping going on until this beast was dispatched. It was quite hilarious.

I love this dog! 

Landslide?

Election week is here and if my news sources this morning are correct, we are about to throw a bunch of Democrats out of office. Practically every story I have read has used words like “historic” and “landslide” to describe what is about to befall the party of government in these midterms. Now that we are within 24 hours of the big vote the crazies have come out. Over the weekend, desperate Dems dragged out their heavy artillery, lobbing racial bombs throughout the fruited plain. In fliers distributed throughout predominantly black neighborhoods, voters were warned that a vote for a Republican would mean that land would be donated to the KKK! Charlie Rangel, the esteemed Congressman from Harlem proclaimed that some Republicans don’t know that slavery isn’t legal anymore. Mary Landrieu, a Democrat who has managed to be elected twice in Louisiana, suddenly has discovered that her state is full of a bunch of racist, sexist slobs…now that she has fallen behind in the polls.

But the best 11^th hour haymaker thrown by a desperate Democrat has to go to retiring Iowa Senator Tom Harkin, who warned voters not to be taken in by Republican Joni Ernst just because she was “pretty” and “seems so nice.” I eagerly await a press release from the National Organization of Woman slamming the Senator for his demeaning, sexist, misogynistic comments.

I will vote tomorrow but will not make the same mistake I made last time. A year ago, I wrote a blog post entitled, “Voting NO” about my failed attempt to pull the lever for anyone. That decision was met with a chorus of condemnation. Let’s just say that this year, I will keep my voting behavior to myself.

That’s not to say that I don’t have an opinion on the proceedings. When almost every poll suggests a nationwide trend away from one party like this year, it’s always kind of a big deal. I have a theory about politics in America. Demographics are destiny. Generally speaking, I believe that a majority of people want the policies of the Democrats, ie…most people want their Social Security; most people want the government to be there when they lose their job, or become disabled and yes, I do believe that most people would prefer that the government provide them with health insurance. So, how to explain a national repudiation of the Democratic Party in an election? Competence.

The only time the Democrats get beat in an election is when the majority of voters are convinced that they don’t know what the hell they are doing. Regardless of your politics, it’s hard to make the case for competence with the current administration and the likes of Harry Reid. So, according to my theory, the Republicans are about to get their shot at running both houses of Congress. Good luck to them.

But they will be on a short leash. The American people will only reward them in the next election if they keep the entitlements flowing. They start fooling around with means-testing Social Security, or eliminating infinite unemployment benefits, or even scrapping the 20,000 page tax code, well they will be tossed to the curb before you can say “national debt.”

My Two Recovering Girls

Miss Lucy made it through her spaying and Pam made it through her procedure relatively unscathed. Lucy was still under the influence of the anesthesia for most of the evening, and Pam was also numbed up, so last night passed without incident.  This morning was another matter.

Aside from the overwhelming humiliation that comes with wearing such a monstrous device strapped around her head, this morning, with a clear head, has brought irritation and annoyance. She paws at the thing, growls and whines her frustration, then stalks off in a huff careening off of furniture and walls, trying to make a dramatic exit, which only makes us laugh at her, the ultimate humiliation!

Pam, of course, is much more circumspect. There has been no whining, very little growling, and so far she hasn’t knocked anything over.

I have been greatly aided in my caretaking duties by one of my sainted sisters, Paula, who brought over the following homemade meal last night:

·        Pork tenderloin

·        Green beans with baby tomatoes

·        Macaroni and cheese

·        Some sort of steamed apple concoction that tasted like heaven

·        A pan of homemade rolls which looked like muffins and tasted like heaven’s twin sister

·        Pumpkin spice pudding

Somehow, I managed to make it through the night! Tonight will be the big test. Halloween, with its hordes of prepubescent urchins rustling around outside and Pam and I inside a dark house trying to calm Lucy down. Her famous skittishness combined with the satellite dish around her head should combine to produce some highlight reel-quality moments.

I’ll have the camera ready.

Poor Lucy

Poor Lucy. Poor innocent, unsuspecting, anxiety-free Lucy, chasing her tail on the family room floor, nary a discouraging thought in her little puppy head. In less that two hours some Vet will be robbing her of her womanly parts, altering her life forever. Then they will strap the cone of shame on her adorable head, making it impossible to do the one thing that brings her endless delight…licking herself. And who exactly is responsible for this outrage? Us, her trusted and adored owners, that’s who.

But the great thing about dogs is that she will forgive us. Actually, she won’t even blame us. She will never make the connection that it was our fault. She won’t hold a grudge like a cat would. Heck, for all I know, Lucy will think that we were the ones who saved her from the horrible Vet and forget that we were the ones who took her there in the first place.

Dogs are never shocked when we do nice things for them, because everything we do for them is the most spectacularly fantabulous thing ever! Especially when I take her to Petsmart at 7 am, apparently. She was overjoyed upon first entering this doggy Xanadu. What’s not to love about a gigantic warehouse full of aisle upon aisle of dog toys, the smell of dog food hanging heavily in the air and lots of other dogs!! Lucy’s head was on a swivel, taking it all in with delight. Wait, are those BIRDS???!!”

Upon arrival at the pet waiting room, she was thrilled to find two older, exceedingly more forlorn dogs, who both seemed totally disgusted with Lucy’s gleeful personality. These two dogs looked like grizzled veterans of the Veterinarian game and could barely conceal their unanimous disgust with this obnoxious puppy. “Idiot” they both seemed to conclude.

Unfazed, Lucy wiggled excitedly on, oblivious to the social cues practically raining down upon her to rein it in a bit. When the nurse came to take her back to the “pre-op” area, she bounded through the door as if a ten pound ham hock awaited her, not even glancing back at me. She seemed to be having the time of her life.

We’ll see how delighted she is this afternoon at 5:30. Pictures to follow.