Dog comparison

	Great Dane	Chihuahua
Name	Odin	Cleo
Weight	110 lbs	9 lbs (being generous here)
Means of engagement	Presses face into crotch	Inserts body into armpit
Vocalization	Loud, deep bark	Sneezy little chuffs
Territoriality	His bed. Also, Zoey’s bed	Angela’s bed
Elapsed time to turn human into quivering mass of love	One minute, thirteen seconds	Yeah, that’s about right
Human love with	Rachel	Angela
Chews	House, barbecue cover, toys, etc.	Food. Can’t be bothered with non-food items.
Courage	Afraid of cats	Afraid of nothing
Favorite pastime	Sleeping	Sleeping
Favorite comment	D’oh!	Wazzat?
Tenure in family	Nine years, ten months	Two days, four hours
Legacy	So many good memories	So many good times ahead

Observation will continue.

Cleo

The newest member of Clan McDermott is a Chihuahua. Yes, yes, one of those little constantly underfoot rat-like dogs. Well, maybe not so much a dog as a mutation of the canine strain in the direction of smallness.

I’ve always been more a fan of larger dogs. Sam was a Rottweiler / Blue Tick Hound. Odin was a Great Dane / Black Lab. I like my furry buddies to weigh in the three digit zone.

So, there we were at the animal shelter, Daughter One and I perusing the current offerings of the four-legged variety. Hugo was a cool Pug mix but Mary would never go for such a heavy shedder so no Hugo. Remington was a cool old guy but we were looking for a companion who would be a closer match to Zoey the Small and Annoying and Remington was decidedly large.

A young couple swooped in and snatched up the cute little black and white little girl before we could make our pitch.

Then about halfway down the left line of cages One came across this little shivering, ears-forward, tail wagging fist-sized girl who couldn’t get enough of One’s fingers to lick. Swear to Gawd, it was first sight love for da bote a dem.

She’s a sweet little thing and anxious for affection of any kind. And she’s house-broken. She’ll fit in just fine. And Zoey will be a great big sis to her.

So, welcome to the family, Cleo.

Point of view

I was riding across the lake the other day and both Mt. Baker to my north and Rainier to my south were out in all their glory. It was a magnificent sight. (Okay, sights, since I had to turn my head to see each in turn.)

I got to thinking about the potential for an eruption. Based on sedimentary evidence of previous pyroclastic flows, either mountain could spawn a doozy. I give way occasionally to a low grade nervousness about it, the way you occasionally worry about a lightning strike. Not likely, but still…

And then, in the way one’s mind wanders when riding the bus with a finished book and stunning mountains within view, I got to thinking about the frequency of eruptions. I found myself wondering what a film of our volcanoes would look like from a more geologic point of view.

I decided that western Washington, viewed from high above and speeded up a gadzillion times, might most resemble a coffee percolator. Or perhaps thick soup just coming to a simmer.

It was a cool thought.

And then I noticed the teenager across from me and thought of geologic acne and the whole thing was ruined in a single pop.

Not every bus ride flight of fancy makes it to cruising altitude.

The bachelor...again

Mary left for Florida this morning, taking her turn as her mother’s caregiver.

There was a time when extended families lived in the same city or even the same house. Elders took a hand in the raising of children and children in turn provided for the needs and security of their elderly parents. It was a good system for the most part, one that provided both succor and continuity.

It’s been a long time since families lived in the same row house or apartment building or tenement. It’s been awhile since most families even lived in the same city.  Mary’s is bi-coastal so it’s no small matter to arrange for visits, much less an ongoing caretaking arrangement.

They make it work.

Many the argument – er, discussion – has taken place among the sibs over the last few years as it became clear that their mother was going to have needs beyond what she could provide for herself. They haven’t always agreed except on one thing – their mother would never be left to fend for herself or forced to choose between dignity and survival.

So, once again I find myself largely alone for the next month. Mary will be with her mom. And since Daughter Two is in Chicago and Daughter One has, you know, her own life, I will be largely alone.

And it sucks.

And it’s okay.

Because this is what Mary needs to do. It’s what a family does.

Woman's work

Project: Protect the house from woodpeckers (a protected species hereabouts) trying to nest by making holes in the wood siding

Wife’s tasks:

Figure out what to use and how to use it (special netting)

Find hammer stapler and staples after husband gives up.

Climb ladder again and again

Install netting along roof line using, you know, tools

Secure bottom end of netting to siding using (as you might have guessed) tools

Husband’s tasks:

Haul ladders out of garage

Fail to find the hammer stapler and staples

Hold ladder for wife

I always make sure my spouse sticks to woman’s work. It’s her place.

It's not the vulgarity

Regarding a certain candidate currently running for public office, I’ve been quite bothered by the vulgarity and bigotry he’s been espousing. I remain bothered by this.

But there’s an aspect of this person’s bilious bloviating that bothers me even more than the hateful content. Here’s the thing:

Whether he’s making fun of persons living with disabilities, or bragging about his (undemonstrated) prowess in various areas, or simply lying, what he’s not doing is speaking to the actual, you know, issues.

He’ll make the country great again but can’t say how. He’ll make a neighboring country pay for a new Great Wall (another example of his hateful spew) but doesn’t say how. He’s going to fix health care but doesn’t say how. And of course he’s going to ‘fix’ the military. Again, no plan.

He decries H1B but of course, his own companies bring in workers using that rule. And then he has the gall to stand up on national television and say, “we shouldn’t have these loopholes but hey, it’s there and I’m a businessman so I use it,” as though that’s a legitimate defense.

He wants to bar refugees and other immigrants. Oh, wait, except for the young, statuesque ones he marries.

Asked to define his specific objection to Common Core, his answer was, “it’s education from Washington, D.C.” He clearly doesn’t know what Common Core is, since it’s actually driven on a state by state basis. And of course the press lets him get away with it.

He claims to be a great businessman but he’s a leader in business failures. It’s more accurate to say he’s good at starting and not so good at operating businesses. Shouldn’t that make us nervous about this guy as a potential chief executive?

And yet, he leads in the polls.

I don’t care so much about the vulgarity. I do care that we seem to have so many folks planning to vote to make it the lingua franca of the White House.

Amazing. And frightening.

Temptation

“Too soon,” they say. Daughters One and also Two and of course, SheWhoMustBeObeyed.

Too soon for our emotional states. Too soon for Zoey the Small and Annoying to make the adjustment. Too soon to choose wisely. Too soon for a new round of training and accommodation and assimilation.

It’s too soon because we have to process the loss of Odin the Large and Lazy. He is still a part of us, so wouldn’t a new dog feel like an interloper?

I suppose I have to agree it’s too soon.

Too soon after the death of a friend who was unconditionally loving through so many family and personal events.

So, someone please tell me, why do I feel this insane temptation to go to the pound, ‘just to look?’

For now

For now, you’re still my buddy.

I can hear you snoring behind me as I write this. I’m glad.

I’m glad because your gentle snoring means that you’re not in pain, not stuporously shaking your head trying to dislodge a tumor that you don’t understand is there.

I’m glad because it’s clear you feel safest when one of us is with you. A dog feeling safe with me is a high compliment.

You’ve sprung back before. They said weeks or months, certainly not a year and it’s been over a year. We’ve had a few low spots along the way. A time or two I wondered if it was time.

Perhaps we’ll get another reprieve but I doubt it. Too many symptoms, too little energy, just too…

It won’t be tonight, I don’t think. We hope you are still here when your girl gets home tomorrow night. But of course, it’s not about her or me. It’s about you and it’s my last duty to an old friend to know when it’s time.

Not yet, though.

For now, you’re still my buddy, snoring on the carpet behind me. And I'm glad.

Who said it wouldn't last?

Thirty years ago as I type this Mary and I met at my friends' (her brother's) wedding. Actually, at the reception since I missed the actual wedding. I spent the evening hoping no one would notice that the bottom twenty inches or so of my pants were soaked, as were my shoes and socks. But that's another whole story...

Anyway, I met her and displayed my sense of humor, in spite of which, she eventually agreed to a date. Silly girl!

So-o-o-o, happy thirtieth to Mark and Deb! And thank you for inviting me to your wedding. I think...