The Problem with the Rainbow Bridge

If you have a dog or cat, or spend any time on the internet, you've almost certainly come across the prose-poem called, "Rainbow Bridge." 

It's very sweet, and sentimental, and can make grown men sniffle, yet all I can do is take great solace in the knowledge that there is no such place, because, if there were, I'm afraid it wouldn't be nearly as nice as it's made out to be.


Here's the piece, of unknown authorship, for those who have somehow escaped it thus far:


Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge


When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they miss someone very special to them; who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. The bright eyes are intent; the eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to break away from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. YOU have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. 

 

After reading these beautiful paragraphs, who wouldn't want to meet their dearly departed pets there on the banks of the Rainbow Bridge? 

Me, for one.


If I died today, there would be forty or fifty dogs and cats waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge, all demanding my undivided attention, each considering me their one and only master. Imagine the hell that will break lose when Holden and Levi each rush to be first to see me. Poor Holden will get pulverized.


I've "owned" all my dogs and cats with Karen. Did they all meet her at Rainbow Bridge? And what about Arthur? He was Karen's Seeing Eye dog, but she died before he did? Is he sitting at the banks of the Rainbow Bridge psychotically guarding his Frisbee, waiting for me to throw it, or is he on the other side, pushing his way between Karen and Lyric? And, assuming poor Levi goes before I do, is he going to be forced to wait for me with Arthur, his tormentor, until I finally show up?


No, Rainbow Bridge is one of those things that works fine in theory, like communism or having sex with "just friends." It's only when you get to the nitty-gritty details and necessary implications and repercussions that you see the glaring flaws in these seemingly perfect ideas.



Of course we want to be with the pets we love forever. It's only natural. But under the Judea-Christian-Islamic system, animals don't have souls, and certainly won't enjoy a heavenly afterlife like that described in the Rainbow Bridge. It's peculiar, then, that this particular writing seems to appeal especially to Christians. 

According to Wikipedia (the source of all truth) the Rainbow Bridge has similarities with the Bifröst bridge of Norse Mythology, which was the bridge to Norse Heaven. Surely that's not where our American pets wait for us. So where did this idea of Rainbow Bridge come from? Could it just be made up, like every other answer offered regarding what happens after death?


What happens after death, to us and our pets, is the big question. Are we reunited forever in the afterlife, is there a special paradise for animals, or do we all molder for eternity in the cold earth?


I say we molder, but it doesn't matter. As long as each of us live, the love we had for each pet in our life lives on with us. As I wrote yesterday, Holden, fifteen years dead, will always be my dog. So will Lyric and Vinnie and all of them. I don't need to wait until I die and get to the Rainbow Bridge to be with them again. I'm always with them.

All the dogs and cats I've ever had are with me, inside me, now, and that sure beats the huge dog pack and clowder of cats that would be waiting to mob for me at the bridge. There would be so many jumping at me so fast, that I'd surely fall off, into who knows what sort of limbo.



© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

My Turn: NO-bama, by Levi

The current inhabitant of the White House must go. Ordinarily, I do my best to keep my political views to myself, but in this instance, the need to speak out, for my country, outweighs my normal habit of discretion. Though I've been a yellow dog democrat my whole life,  I repeat; Obama must go!

First, he's not even American. Being American is one of the requirements, right? Obama's not! It says so right on his birth certificate!

Second, Obama is an "elite." In these times, do we need an "elite" in the White House? As usual, that question was rhetorical, and, as usual, I'll answer anyway. No! The White House should be inhabited by a regular American, not by a foreign "elite," which is exactly what that Obama is!

Third, he's way too young for his position. I don't even think that's an assertion that can be debated.

Finally, there is the issue everyone skirts around whenever they discuss Obama; his color. He's black. I don't know about you, but all the blacks I've known have been stupid and lazy and mean and bad. There is no reason for us to have a black at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. It doesn't make sense. We non-blacks have to come together to restore the natural order to our country.

For the above-stated reasons, I hereby declare that Bo Obama should be impeached, and removed from the White House, in a van with cages in the back, preferably by men with long poles.


In support of my position I say:



Look at his papers! It says right on them, "Portuguese Water Dog." Where I come from, "Portuguese" is just another way of saying "foreign." And what the hell is a "water dog?" I'm a meat dog, and that's the only kind of dog there should be!


Speaking of papers: He has them! What's up with that? Bo Obama, that AKC registered, son-of-a-bitch, walks around like he's better than everyone! Well, you're not better than me, Bo Obama, no matter how many Secret Service goons you have to pick up your poop!

Bo Obama's youth and inexperience is a definite strike against him. He is a puppy! Puppies are stupid! I usually have to beat up puppies, just so they will stop being stupid! And now this stupid puppy is romping around the Rose Garden, which my taxes pay for? 

A smart dog should live in the White House, and if a puppy like Bo is going to be there, a smart dog, like my big brother, Arthur, better be there, too, to show the stupid puppy how to do things right, so he will grow up to be a good boy like me.


Then there's the color card, and I am going to play it. Black dogs are stupid and lazy and mean and bad. Everyone knows that. I don't know how many times I've heard that at the dog park, and if you hear something enough, it's true. 

So, if Bo Obama is a black dog (and he is), then he is stupid and lazy and mean and bad! Q.E.D. The President of the United States should not have a dog who is stupid and mean and lazy and bad. Therefore, Bo Obama should be taken away, in a van with cages in the back. 

If the president does not want to do this, then Bo Obama could be given a shot, like the one the vet gave Arthur, when he was limping, and then get taken away in a black, plastic, bag. One way or the other, though, Bo must go!


Dad says I'm intolerant and irrational about black dogs, and says that they're not stupid and lazy and bad and mean. He said Vinnie was a very nice dog. Maybe, but I've heard stories about him, and he doesn't sound smart. So, maybe, black dogs are just stupid or lazy or bad or mean. Either way, it is manifestly evident that Bo Obama must be forcibly removed from office by men with long poles! With extreme prejudice!

"But, Levi," I hear some of you stupid readers saying, "Bo isn't all black. He has a white chest and white front paws." If you say that, you're stupid, because having some white in you does not make you not a black dog, does it, stupid? Even a stupid black dog would know that. If someone drops white ice cream on a black floor, when I'm done licking up the ice cream, the floor is still black. 

A black dog isn't fit to live in the White House, and having some white in him doesn't change that. It's not like he's a white dog with some black in him. That would be a totally different story.

So, in conclusion, I have proven that Bo Obama is a bad boy, and he must be removed from office. He is foreign, and "elite", and a puppy, and a black dog. He should be replaced by an American dog, finely blended from different breeds, like myself. I'm set with dad, but there are other good dogs, besides me. Yellow dogs, brown dogs, white dogs! Tri-color dogs of all stripe and spot! Mr. President, the good dogs of America will be glad to chase your tennis balls! Just get rid of that Bo!


If I ever meet Bo Obama, I will beat him up and make his ear bleed! Then, when someone asks, "What's black and white and red all over," the best answer will be, "Bo Obama." And everyone will rejoice with laughter, because Levi has made a good joke!

Editor's Note: First off, I want it known that I don't endorse any of Levi's views, nor do I know where he gets a lot of his ideas from. As is my habit, I offered to edit this for Levi, removing certain things, like saying his taxes pay for the Rose Garden. Levi is a dog. Of course, he doesn't pay taxes, but when reminded of this, he says he won't pay taxes because he has no representation. 
I also tried to explain to him that before he could possibly beat up Bo Obama, he would be shot down, like the proverbial mad dog, but Levi still insists he wants to fight the president's puppy. 
A number of other instances of wrong-headed thinking were pointed out to Levi prior to this posting, but he insisted that not a word be changed. I strongly urged him not to call the readers stupid, as this might be offensive to some of them. "Yes," he said, "The stupid ones." So, please, be sure any comments or reactions are directed to Levi, not me. 
For the record, I am an enormous supporter of President Barack Obama, and wish him, his family, and, especially, Bo, nothing but the best. R.S.

For more of Levi's views, see last week's editorial, "Those People at the Door." Levi has informed me that his "My Turn" pieces are the only thing worth reading on this entire site, and he has demanded a weekly column. I've agreed, so next Monday, and every Monday, check back for another steaming pile of Levi's thoughts and opinions.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Karen

In my case, at least, I didn't become a dogman on my own. I had a co-conspirator who collected dogs and cats with me, my wife, Karen who passed away from breast cancer in January, 2002. She remains alive, not only in my memory, but in a number of the stories that come out of the den. In order to tell you enough about Karen, I would need to write a book, which I may ultimately do. For now, though, allow me a slight diversion from dogs and cats to tell you just a little bit about her.



Karen and I met in college in 1979, when she was still Karen Frerichs. She was memorable in that she was the only blind student at the university. You never would have known she was blind from a distance, and, except for one eye that was sort of misdirected, you wouldn't have known up-close. She was a psychology major, beautiful with long, chestnut, hair, and dating my friend, Jeff. We were nothing but friends for the first year and a half we knew each other.

Then Karen and Jeff broke up. I read her The Catcher in the Rye one January. According to international law governing the behavior of hot blind girls, once a guy reads Catcher in the Rye to one, they are obligated to fall in love with him, or, at very least, sleep with him. Don't complain to me about this. I didn't  draft the law, I just benefited from it.

Once Karen and I were together, we were spiritually married. The real marriage would take place sometime later, in a dog park, of all places. As soon as we got our first apartment we got our first dog, who we named Holden, appropriately enough. Then Karen got her first Seeing Eye dog, Lyric, and it was a whole lot of dogs and cats ever after.

Karen went to the University of Illinois College of Law. Though I read her curriculum to her, and her dog, Lyric, got her around campus, the accomplishment of graduating, and then passing the bar exam in New Mexico, belong entirely to Karen. Law school's hard, and the bar exam is harder, for those who can see. A blind person could get through law school on charm and pity, but there's no way to influence the bar exam. It's a two-day test from hell, and having to take it with someone reading it out loud to you seems incomprehensible.

Karen was also frighteningly funny and easy going. She was a hard drinking and smoking gal, and she loved to swear.  Making prank phone calls was a kind of specialty. Once, I was working at a personal injury firm, where I met my good friend, Rick. We did intakes about injuries sustained by people who had seen our firm's commercials on T.V. It wasn't much of a firm, and we didn't get many calls.


One day, Rick got a call from a lady downstate. She spoke in a thick accent, that sounded like that of black people from southeast New Mexico and southwest Texas. She talked to Rick for over an hour about her injury, supposedly sustained at the pet store she worked at, when a crazed chimp (who wasn't even supposed to be there) bit her on the face. Now she was worried that the chimp's owner, the caller's boss, was going to maliciously sic the chimp on her, and Lord help her if that happened!


Of course the caller was Karen, and the three of us laughed for months over it. I just got an e-mail from Rick about the call that brought the whole thing back and had me laughing, hard, again. I have no doubt that Rick was laughing as he wrote it. I could give a million examples, but, suffice to say, she was a very funny woman.

She played piano, and sang in cocktail bars, and could do "Me and Bobby McGee" in a way that would do Janis Joplin proud.


She originally got a job as a prosecutor at the D.A.'s office, but had to leave over ethical issues. She learned that the D.A. encouraged, no insisted, that his lawyers be dishonest with the court on occasion. After she was ordered by her supervisor to tell a judge she has witnesses ready for trial, when in fact she did not, Karen chose to do the ethical thing and resign from the D.A.'s office. 

She became a criminal defense attorney, and she never lost a single case she took to trial against the state, and continued to find it a very rare occasion when the state prosecuted their cases in an honest and ethical manner. I went to work with her as her assistant, and she and I both believed that only with strong, ethical, defense attorneys, would prosecutor's office's operate within the bounds of the law and fundamental fairness.

She always used guide dogs and loved the independence and safety they afforded her. She loved all dogs, and if there was a stray dog or cat within a five mile radius, it would find her. We had a chicken coop in the back of our old Albuquerque house, and Karen insisted we fill it with chickens, and a rooster, named Buff.

Karen had a host of medical problems, the main one being, of course, her blindness, which had a mysterious cause, with an onset just prior to puberty, and no cure. She also had early, pre-cancerous, incidents, where, in every case, the pathologist would eventually shake his head, and say, "These cells aren't cancerous, but I'll be damned if I know what they are!" 

She had migraines, and she got banged around a lot. I'd yell at her, urging her not to move around like an idiot like she could see, but Karen figured the occasional egg-sized knot on her forehead was a small price to pay for normalcy.

I'd been with Karen just under 20 years when she died, after fighting breast cancer like she'd fought everything else throughout her life. She had to fight society to be allowed to be a blind girl in a public high school in the 1970s. Not only did she attend, she was a cheerleader.

She had to fight the Department of Rehabilitation to get any help through college and law school. She had to fight discrimination, first for being a woman, and then for being a blind woman. She had to fight for her clients, and fight for the truth. 

She would have just as soon not have fought so often and so hard, but she wasn't going to back away from any fight that was just and necessary, and she would fight to the death, if that was required. What really sucks is that she died fighting cancer, which isn't just and only questionably necessary. Karen always wanted to live, but if she had to die, I wish she could have died fighting an adversary, not a stupid, random, epidemic disease which, if malignant enough, can't be beat.



I never knew Karen not to love a dog or cat (or horse, chicken, etc.), and I never knew a dog or cat not to love her back. She was a true dogwoman. 

There's a lot more to say about Karen, of course, but the main thing for now is Erica, Levi and I miss her a lot, and you need to know who she was to fully appreciate some of my recounting of things that happened to us.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Cast of Characters

Over the last month, I've posted a number of stories about dogs and cats of mine, past and present, and I intend to continue such postings. While any individual piece is meant to be able to be enjoyed in isolation from the stories as a whole, it occurs to me that there are recurring "characters" in a larger narrative. Since I'm not telling these stories in any particular sequence, I have created this handy summary of who's who in the den for the reader who might become confused. 

As other dogs, or relevant people, appear, I'll update this page, so it can serve as an orientation to those attempting to understand the stories in their proper context. Some characters mentioned have not appeared yet, but certainly will. If you are new to this site, or even if you're not, press any link in a character's description to go to a story featuring that character.


Rich Sands, the dogman: The writer, originally from Park Forest, IL, then Chicago, Albuquerque, San Diego, Mexico and points in between.





Karen Sands, nee Frerichs, of Kankakee, IL: Rich's late wife. Karen passed away from breast cancer in 2002. She and Rich were college sweethearts. Karen was blind since childhood, and became a Seeing Eye dog user after she graduated from college. Karen was an attorney, specializing in criminal defense, in Albuquerque, NM, where Rich worked with her as her assistant, driver, reader, etc.

Arthur: Karen's third Seeing Eye dog. German Shepherd. Lived with Erica, raised Levi and Esmé. *


Chelsea: Mixed breed German/Australian shepherd. Member of original pack. *


Chibu: Polydactyl cat from the pack in the 90s.*


Chi-Chi: Rich's mother's present dog. 13 years old. Chihuahua.


Erica: Rich's present cat, 13 years old. Was a kitten in final days of original pack, has seen them all!



Esmé: Levi's sister, mixed-breed shepherd.*


Freddy: Rich's childhood dog, a collie-sized sheltie.*


Holden: Mixed breed, beagle, type. Small, but thick as a fireplug, physically and metaphorically. Member of original pack.*


Levi: Rich's present dog. 8 years old, mixed-breed, shepherd. 70 pounds. The best dog in the world.


Lolita: Levi's aunt, Rich and Karen's dog in the late 90s. Beautiful, black, mixed-breed shepherd. Contemporary of Vinnie, Erica, Otis and Arthur. *


Lyric: Karen's first Seeing Eye dog, leader of the original pack. German shepherd. *

Maechen: Black Chow mix. Contemporary of original pack in their old age, Erica and Vinnie.*



Mogwai: Jet black, long-haired male cat. Member of original pack.*

Otis: Rich and Karen's dog in the late 90s. Shar-Pei/lab mix. Contemporary of Lolita, Erica, Vinnie and Arthur.*


Rocky: Rich's mother's present dog (Rich's brother). 8 years old. 20 pound mixed breed.


Ruby: Spaniel-mix, contemporary of Maechen, Vinnie, contemporary of original pack in their old age. *



Vinnie: Karen's second Seeing Eye dog, black lab.*

* indicates deceased.


A Note on Photographs: I don't have any.  Literally. I believe I've posted almost all the pictures I have of any dogs mentioned. When your wife is blind, and you're a guy who doesn't think of the value of pictures, not many get taken, and those that were taken have been, by and large, lost. Except for the living dogs and cats, any pictures posted are meant to serve only as illustration, not as an actual representation of the dogs or cats in the text.


Back tomorrow with a brand new story! In the meantime, if you missed it, why not read more about Erica Kane?


© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Dug-Up Bones

This is my 24^th posting in as many days, and I've been very pleased and excited by the interest in and reaction to my blog. Since the Den opened 24 days ago, I have fiddled with the set-up and design, and added and subtracted counting widgets and such. I've had Statburner, Feedburner, Trendcounter, and several others that I have taken on and off my site since its creation. As a result, I don't have an accurate count of how many page views, or visitors, I've had, or what country these readers are from. However, preliminary estimates are most encouraging.

If my calculations are inexact or my methodology questionable, I apologize, but, as of today, I estimate my web site has had over 3.5 million page hits from more than one million separate individuals! The results of my new flag counter, when combined with those of my old flag counter, reveal that these million-plus readers seemingly come from 3,657 different nations! I'm slightly humbled that my words are reaching so many, but, ultimately, I feel it's for the best.


Note: The Den of the Dogman had a very ugly banner, and a friend of mine who prefers to go by the nom de guerre, "Muse", who made me a great Entreecard, has said she's going to make me a nice banner. She started to, but it wasn't long enough! Now she says she'll fix it, and maybe she will, but for now, I have an idea! The first Den of the Dogman ™Official Contest! Design the Dogman's blog's banner! If you don't know what this means, you probably won't win the contest, so don't bother entering. 

Send your beautiful and appropriately sized banner art in today! The winner will enjoy the thrill that comes with being chosen, and will also receive a personal e-mail from the Dogman! (multiple entries are allowed!) Send in your "Dogman" banner .jpg today!




And now, a look back at some of my favorite's since this site's inception. If you missed any of these, read them now, and no one need know you didn't read it the first chance you had!

Labs, Monkeys, Pirates and the Essence of Fear: A funny story about Vinnie, a black lab Seeing Eye dog, and a few of the things that frightened him. Not unreasonable things, but genuinely scary stuff, like a monkey in the courthouse! And then there's the pirates!

"Look Out, Cat!!!™" It's every dog's favorite rainy day fun game! It's the exciting new craze that's sweeping the doggie countryside. Read all about it and get the official rules. Leagues are forming SOON! Funny, because it's true! (NO kitties are harmed during properly conducted games of "Look Out, Cat!!!™")

Meet Lyric, my late wife's first Seeing Eye dog, a beautiful, high-strung, brilliant German shepherd. An ultimately sweet and touching story, about the most intimate of dog-human partnerships – and how it all started with hate at first sight!

Let Us Sit Upon the Ground and Tell Sad Stories of the Death of Kings A very sad story about Karen's last Seeing Eye dog, Arthur. Perhaps the greatest of all dogs meeting perhaps the saddest of all ends. If you don't already keep Kleenex next to the computer, get some before you start reading this story. But read it, please. Whatever else, Arthur earned our attention.

Dreams of Dogs and Cats Levi and Erica discuss their dreams. A rare insight into the inner workings of our pets psyches! A light, funny, fantasy piece.

Come back to the den tomorrow for the beginning of a week of new stories.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Please share this blog with others.

Levi's Issues, Part 2

Part 1


One bright November day, Levi and Esmé went out to swim and hunt. Levi came home alone, obviously traumatized. We looked for a week, but never found her body. Given where we lived, we knew she hadn't been hit by a car, or stolen. The coyotes of the area, though, could be dangerous. 

Together, Levi and Esmé were big enough to deter an out and out coyote ambush. But if a group of coyotes, in the guise of playing, attracted one of them far enough away from the other, that puppy would have been easy prey. I'm fairly certain that's what happened to Esmé, and I'm also pretty sure Levi saw it.


Levi fell into a serious depression. Arthur was heartbroken, and in order to cope with his loss, took to punishing Levi more frequently and randomly.

Ordinarily, I would have been more on top of the situation, protecting Levi from his bully of a brother, but Karen was getting increasingly sick during this time, and my attention was more on her than it was on caring for Levi. I have no doubt that's as it should have been, but the result was Levi remained in what could only be described as an abusive home environment. Arthur never hurt him to an extent where vet care was needed, but he did what he could to see that Levi's natural high spirits were repressed.

Levi recovered from losing his sister and began to be a happy puppy again. There was an old woman who lived across the way from us named Ethel, who Levi would visit every day. She'd give him cookies, and talk to him, and let him graze cherry tomatoes off her plants. Ethel was Levi's grandma, and she helped him get over the terrible loss of Esmé. Since Arthur wouldn't leave the yard, Levi could visit Ethel by himself, and have an opportunity to feel confident and good about himself.


Ethel died suddenly and unexpectedly in December. Levi went to her house day after day, but grandma never came out to play with him again. His depression returned, and despite Levi's obviously damaged state, Arthur never let up on him for a second. Nevertheless, Levi carried on. He loved Arthur, I suppose in much the same way battered wives love their abusive husbands. Erica was a great comfort to him, and he adored his mom and dad. 

Then, in January, his mom died.

Within a few months, Levi, Arthur, Erica and I began a kind of vagabond existence. We moved from the only house he ever knew into a small trailer with a friend in Taos. I worked as a waiter, and Levi and Arthur would spend the day together. When I would come home from work, Arthur was usually protecting his Frisbee, while Levi was running to the car to greet me. I can only imagine what their days alone together were like.


Then the pack moved from wild New Mexico to super civilized Scottsdale. Despite all the upheaval, Levi was becoming happy again. He'd become an adult, and there was much less corporal punishment delivered by Arthur, who Levi still seemed to worship. We started going to the dog park, where Arthur would, of course, obsess over his Frisbee, and where Levi finally had the opportunity to behave as a quasi-independent adult dog.


For about nine months, things at the park were fine. We spent so much time there that Levi began to see it as his territory. Once he determined that he was in charge of the park, he naturally assumed that keeping puppies in line was one of his responsibilities. I'm not saying Levi didn't enjoy the small cruelties he inflicted on the puppies (click for a short film of such abuse), and I'm not saying it was right. I'm just saying I understood.

Eventually, Levi started to be too bad to bring to the park anymore. This was hard on him, because he loved his large group of park friends, but I couldn't stop him from being a bully, so we stopped going. Arthur didn't care; he could fetishize the Frisbee in the back yard as well as anywhere else, but Levi's social circle was again reduced to insane Arthur. At least now he had Rocky and Chi-Chi as friends, as well as Erica, but his primary companion remained Arthur, who that good boy, Levi, still loved like crazy, despite everything. Then Arthur got bone cancer and died.

Soon after that, my father, who Levi had of course loved, had to be moved out of the house due to advanced Alzheimer's. Levi's grandpa died about a year later, though Levi had many opportunities to visit with him in the assisted living facility. When my dad couldn't remember what relationship he had with my mother or me, he never forgot how much he loved his dogs, Chi-Chi, Rocky, and now, Levi. Then grandpa was gone.


In the first year of life, Levi was abandoned by his original family, lost his sister, his "grandma," and then Karen, his mom. He was bullied by a much older, much bigger dog, who he nonetheless worshiped. He lived in four different homes. Additionally, during all this time, he had a dad who was going through hell, and wasn't in a good mental state himself. 

That Levi has survived, and turned out as well as he did, not only amazes me, but it inspires me, and helps me get through some of my own bad times. He's been my best friend, and my crutch, since Karen died, and I'm content to know that whatever road life leads us down, we'll travel it together.


So, there, Levi is not a perfect dog. I said it. Just be sure you don't say it. Nobody talks about my boy like that.




© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Please share this blog with others.

Levi's Issues

As much as I love Levi, it pains me to admit that he's not a perfect dog. Like a lot of us, he has issues. Unhappily, the one issue that's ever come up with Levi that I consider serious is an occasional display of unwarranted aggression aimed at other dogs. Though he lives harmoniously with his pack, in a dog park situation he can be a  bully. Making the problem worse is Levi's ordinary choice of victim. Levi likes to beat up puppies.

He never injured a puppy, but he liked to roll them, and stand over them in a dominant manner, that demanded my immediate intervention. You'll note the use of the past tense, because I sadly can't take him to the park anymore, even though he plays entirely appropriately with almost every other dog. But puppies bring out the worst in Levi, as do German Shepherds, who he tends to react to with fear-based aggression. Being significantly smaller than a German Shepherd, this often didn't work out well for Levi.


Levi is an extremely sensitive dog, and in all other matters, he really is incredibly nice and well mannered. I haven't exactly trained him, but he'll usually obey any commands issued in a conversational tone by me, or anyone else he knows. The primary "trick" he knows is to "be a little gentleman." When he's getting overly excited or rowdy, all I have to say to him is, "Levi, you be a little gentleman now," and he settles down immediately, lying down and crossing his arms in a surprisingly dainty manner.

He's never shown an ounce of aggression towards people, and is unusually gentle with little kids and old people. He good naturedly takes abuse from Rocky, and occasionally Erica and Chi-Chi, treating the smaller members of the pack with patient indulgence.


Coming from the esteemed Abeytas breeding grounds, Levi should be a perfect dog. He has the genes for it, the nature. Like everyone else, though, Levi has been shaped by both his nature and his nurturing. Though the crying puppy at the park doesn't know or care, there is a reason Levi acts like he does. 

As with most delinquents, or psychopaths, for that matter, the problems stem from an extremely difficult childhood. That might sound like a cop-out, but when you hear Levi's story, you'll not only understand why he does the bad things he sometimes does, but you'll marvel at how he turned out to be such an overall splendid dog despite his early adversity.


Karen and I got Levi when he was about three months old. He had been weaned from his mother for a couple of weeks, and in late June of 2001, he and his sister, Esmé, had been taken by my friend Rick's irresponsible daughter and her boyfriend. On July 4, Rick asked me if I would help him clear out the trailer his daughter had abandoned. When we got there, besides a trashed trailer, we found Levi and Esmé curled up, together, scared, hungry, and ditched.


Karen seemed to be recovering from her cancer, and the only animals we had were Arthur, her German Shepherd Seeing Eye dog, and Erica, the cat. It didn't hurt that Levi and Esmé were the two cutest puppies you ever saw, but I had no real choice. They were coming home with me and joining the pack.


Karen was delighted. Levi and his sister were not only adorable, they were smarter, more sensitive and more responsive than any dogs I've ever known before. There was never a housebreaking issue, or, indeed, any issues beyond the most casual of puppy shenanigans. Erica loved them instantly, and they would play with her with the kind of unfettered joy that only puppies really know, and that maybe only cats can really appreciate.

And then there was Arthur.


Arthur was absolutely enchanted by the puppies. He put aside his Frisbee obsession enough to be instrumental in raising them, and in teaching them how to act right. The thing was, though, Arthur was in no way temperamentally qualified for the job of raising puppies. In fact, as I've written earlier, Arthur was half-crazed by this time, after having been involuntarily retired due to Karen's illness.


Initially, Arthur treated the puppies well. He clearly loved them, and just wanted to teach them right from wrong. Unfortunately, "right" and "wrong" were rather fluid concepts in Arthur's head. What might be fine on Monday would merit a harsh correction on Tuesday. Though there was little consistency to his rules, Arthur vigorously enforced them anyway. This led to Levi getting beat up, a lot, for doing things he had no way of knowing Arthur considered wrong.


By mid-August, Arthur was head-over-heels in love with Esmé. She was sweet, and coquettish, and was the first dog Arthur had ever truly loved. Despite his feelings for her, though, Arthur knew he had a duty as her teacher. When she misbehaved, when she broke one of his ever changing rules, punishment still had to be meted out. But Arthur could no longer bring himself to discipline Esmé. So whenever Esmé did something Arthur considered wrong, he would promptly punish poor Levi.

Esmé never acted with intent to get Levi in trouble. They were almost like conjoined twins, connected at the shoulder, and Esmé would no more have done anything to hurt Levi than she would have to hurt herself. They slept wrapped up in each other, and when they were awake they were almost always touching each other. 

We lived in the country, and Levi and Esmé would go out every day to swim in the arroyos and hunt rabbits. Arthur never joined them, because he was too busy guarding and worrying about his Frisbee. I'm not sure how often the hunt was a success, but a number of times, Levi would come home with a juicy rabbit leg, and deliver his tribute to King Arthur. Arthur would take it, happily, though not gratefully, and later that night would punish Levi for some imaginary infraction that Esmé committed anyway.

Imagine your crazy Uncle Arthur beating you up every time your sister did something he didn't like. This injustice began to make Levi, this perfect, joyful, puppy, a little jumpy and submissive. Meanwhile, Esmé, his shadow, enjoyed total immunity. Even Levi knew this wasn't fair. 


He was about to learn how unfair life really could be to a little yellow puppy...


Tomorrow: The Conclusion of Levi's Issues
(I promise to only infrequently write two-part stories. I don't like them, and I don't intend to regularly have cliffhangers, but this particular story was just too important and too involved)




© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Please share this blog with others.

Friday Recap

After completing his first full week of blogging, the Dogman reports:

From the Den of the Dogman has had 579 hits as of this posting.

The vast majority of the Den’s visitors have been from the United States, but readers from Italy, Mexico, Great Britain and Canada have also been welcomed to the Den.

The Den of the Dogman seems inordinately popular in Sweden. I wish I could report this was just due to the natural discernment of Swedes, but it's more likely because my friend Jeff lives there.

Continued