Perkins learns some words

When Mom came into town for Son's graduation, she brought her dog Pablo and stayed in a hotel. For two of the nights she was there, I brought Perkins and stayed the night. I enjoyed some nice visiting time with Mom, and the two young dogs got to romp together.

I'm not a morning person, and, if I don't remember exactly where I set my glasses before going to bed, I am pretty useless until I either miraculously find them, or go ahead and put my contact lenses in. So I was kind of slow on the uptake when Mom started saying things like, "Did you know that Perkins can bow?"

I was confused, but then looked over at Perkins doing his deep morning stretch. Mom says "That's a bow! Good bow Perkins!" Then Perkins starts in on a sneezing fit. "That's a sneeze, Perkins! Good sneeze!"

Okay, I get it. And I was impressed. I also realized that I could cut myself some slack for not being as good labeling things for my dogs because I hadn't really done it before. I think Mom has been working with her dogs like this long enough that it's become second nature.

In the month and a half since then, I've been consciously working on this--and shifted my thinking from "I'm going to teach Perkins these commands" to something a little closer to, "I'm going to work on teaching Perkins the words in English that I want him to know."

He definitely knows what "treat" means now. I will promise him a "treat" right after he makes a "poop", and will bound excitedly to the door so that I can let him into the kitchen and he can collect his reward. He also seems to know what a "toy" is, but only his "elephant toy" is super special and awesome.

So if I ask Perkins, "Where's your elephant toy?", he will immediately start wagging his tail. "Go get your elephant toy!" Tail still wagging, Perkins begins to track down his favorite toy.

Early this evening, I had both dogs out in the yard together. My main goal was to make sure that Perkins got in a good, tiring play session so that he would more or less happily rest in his crate while the family watched something together. Perkins doesn't understand that Son wishes to impose a restraining order that would require that no part of a dog's body can ever come within 6 feet of him. (Especially that infernal wagging tail!) So the only way "family time" can be a more or less positive experience is for Perkins to spend that time quietly locked inside his crate.

So I was trying to play with Perkins. "Here's a ball, Perkins. Can you go get the ball? Bring me the ball, Perkins!"  I'm trying to work up all this excitement, and then throw the ball. Perkins just gives me this look that says, "Yeah, sorry. I don't care much for those."

Then I see the stuffed Winnie the Pooh doll--which remains remarkably unmaimed. He owes this good fortune to fact that he is stuffed ONLY with fluff. No squeaker. So I pick up the toy and throw it, saying to Perkins, "Where's Pooh?" And immediately I realize, aw, crud, that sounds way too close to the word "poop". So I switch to "Where's Winnie--", and then look over at my other dog. Damn, that name's already taken! So finally, I came up with "Where's your bear toy?"

I never imagined play time could be so mentally taxing!

Elephant Ears

From This Week Community News:

From rides to livestock, pork loin to elephant ears, art to bungee jumping -- the Ohio State Fair, as usual, offers satisfaction for most any taste. 

Perkins sampled some elephant ears today, and while he approves of the mouth feel, he remarked that they don't really "haz much of a flavor".

What this elephant does have is something crucial for a toy that has any chance of becoming a favorite--a squeaker. So I think now is the time for muddy, chewed up Mr. Lion to slip away quietly...in the night.

Water

Um, no. I didn't.

I am NOT asking anyone on my Facebook friends list whether they wish to remain on my friends list. This sort of thing really ticks me off.

It's a "Facebook viral question", which is apparently different from a virus. But if a question a person didn't ask is being attributed to that person as if he or she did ask that question, something is broken.

My great big puppy

Perkins got away again last night. In the dark, when I was taking him out for one last potty break for the night. I ran to try to keep up with him--clearly a lost cause, but I need to keep him from getting TOO far ahead of me. Whoever he was running to greet apparently ignored him, and he started to run back in my direction. I called him, but he just started to run past me. 

Then I tripped. I have no idea who it was that suggested pretending to fall as a way of getting a dog to come back. I wasn't pretending when I fell, but I remembered the idea at that moment and stayed down. Perky came to me, and I was able to get a grip on his harness and lead him back to the house.

Anyway, we are now reevaluating how old this boy actually is. Socrates, the first cat Demetrius and I adopted together, died when he was allegedly only 8 years old. I say "allegedly" because that was his accurate age only if he was genuinely 2 when we adopted him from a shelter in Chicago. Since that time, I've learned that shelter are often only "guess-timating" when they tell you an animal's age. Absent any dental evidence to the contrary, it seems like adult cats of unknown origin are always two years old. 

It seems like the opposite may have happened with Perkins. Supposedly, he will be 4 in September. He sure doesn't act it. But I assumed what the shelter told me was accurate due to his circumstances. According to his description, he ended up in the shelter after his owner died. I thought he'd been brought in by a family member, but apparently that is not the case.

All I was able to find out is that the mailman found him, got someone he knew to look after Perkins temporarily, and it was *that* individual who signed the release papers at the shelter. So it appears there is no "solid" evidence that I actually adopted a 3 1/2 year old dog. And he sure still has a lot of "puppy" in him!

Lucky for me, my boy is not always on the move...

Ritual

I love a good ritual.



Really, Renee? Do you really LOVE rituals? Or is "good" the operative term here? And, if so, what makes something a "good" ritual?


Jeez, Inner Critic, back off, will you?? I haven't written a "real" blog post in a long time--and here you are making me all self-conscious!


That's not my intent. I'm just trying to keep you honest. Hadn't you decided that being honest and straightforward were core values for you?


Yes, that's true.


All right, let me try this again. "Love" is probably too strong a word. But there's no single word that captures it for me. I know that I need ritual in my life, and I feel sense of longing if I don't have something to fill that void.


I think I am also drawn to rituals--especially important ones. Like a moth to a flame. Or a bit of metal to a magnet.


Then there's just plain old curiosity. As in, "I had no idea there was an official ritual for that. I wonder what that's like..."


I think that last one was the clincher that compelled me, like iron filings are compelled toward a magnet, to drive downtown today (when I "should" have been scoring math responses to earn money) for the deconsecration of the former Saint Paul's Episcopal Church on Broad Street.


Quite often I find that I have a number of reasons for doing a particular thing. The more good reasons I can think of, the better the chances I will be able to turn impulse into action.

On any given night I might go out to sing karaoke. I can change my clothes, touch up my makeup, and then sit down and start fiddling with something on the computer. I'll look up at the clock from time to time until I finally sigh and say to myself, "Not tonight, I guess..." and then change clothes again for bed.


So I didn't even click "maybe" on the Facebook invite. The decision was truly last minute. I did some water aerobics and then looked at the invite again on my phone. Oh--I'd forgotten this part--the Bishop is going to be there. So it's an Important Ritual. I am SO going to this! (I misspoke a few paragraphs ago--this was the clincher.)


And I'm glad that Rev. Cricket Park had the idea to celebrate one last Eucharist in the church. I was one of a congregation of six that were gathered around the altar when the service began, and gradually more people began to trickle in. At some point Bishop Breidenthal arrived, but I didn't notice him right away. I think I recognized him just as he was about to take communion from Cricket.


Growing up in the Catholic church, the priesthood was always off limits to me. Now that I have been Episcopalian for almost a decade, the novelty of women as priests has worn off slightly. But as I was taking in this scene of a female priest serving communion to the Bishop of the Diocese of Southern Ohio, something inside me screamed, "This is so freaking cool!"


I'll try to make up some of that math scoring time tomorrow. This was an experience worth participating in.

Videos

Bereavement and the best of intentions

When we went to pick up Brady's ashes from the funeral home, we were given some little "mementos" along with the box that contained my best friend's incinerated remains. I've wanted to say something about this, but haven't had the time, nor the ability to come up with the right words.



The night before Brady died, I was pretty certain that the end was imminent, and finally did that less than joyful web search to find out about pet cremation. I found a page that listed the particulars of how much it cost to have the animal picked up at the vet's office (no charge for that) or picked up at your home (maybe $75? I'm not positive.) The cost of cremation varied depending on the weight of the pet, but the "package" included mementos such as a paw print and fur clippings. It seemed like a sweet enough idea when I first read this. In practice, it kind of rubbed me the wrong way.


Inside a little booklet of poems (of COURSE including the Rainbow Bridge) and some bland "words of wisdom", carefully crafted not to run afoul of anyone's personal beliefs, there was page with a little baggie of fur clippings. As Demetrius and I were getting into our car, the pet services representative lady pointed to some words on the page, adding, "This says where we took the fur clippings from."


What I've discovered is...NO IT BLOODY ISN'T! On the top of the page, the title reads "My Beloved Pet in a Locket". As I read it out loud to Demetrius, I noticed that it rhymed This isn't where you took fur clippings--this is a poem! I'm sure it was quite meaningful to the person who wrote it, and maybe it has brought comfort to others who have read it. But don't tell me, in a factual tone, "this is where we got the fur clippings". I mean, seriously, from around his eyes? That fur is way to short to clip. (And if you're going to give me some fur clippings as a memento, how about including some of that stunning bright white fur from his chest?)

Anyway, I searched, and here's the original poem

Old dog in a locket.
That lies next to my heart
I will always love you
As I did right from the start.


You were right beside me
Through the darkest of my days
It was your kind and gentle nature
That made me want to stay
Now I hold you in my arms
Your breath still warm against my hand
Our hearts still beat together
And I wonder if you understand.

Through the hours that I held you
Before the light did leave your soul
I knew a way to keep you
Forever in my hold.
I snipped the hair from around your eyes
So I would always see
The beauty that surrounds me
Even in times of need

I snipped the hair from around your ears
So I would always hear
Music in the distance
To quiet all my fears.

I snipped the hair from around your back
To bring me strength in time of need
And the power in your essence
Would always be with me.


I snipped the hair from around your heart
That beat in time with mine
So I'd know your love would find me
At some distant time.

And so your life slipped out of mine
On a quiet winter day
But I knew that a part of you
Was always here to stay.


Old dog in a locket.
That lays next to my heart
I will always love
Even though we had to part.

Author Unknown

If you think it's petty of me to complain about this, I ask gently that you please keep that thought to yourself. Something about this whole "closure" experience did not set quite right with me, and after over a month I felt like I needed to at least try to put it into words. It is, as they say, "part of the healing process."