Dear Simon Schama

Dear Simon Schama,

I love your book. It’s not that I fell asleep whilst reading it; I simply closed my eyes and imagined Caravaggio juggling the Janus balls of his Baroque brilliance and attention to fine detail with his many bawdy and drunken misdeeds. You could say I was entranced by Caravaggio's power of art as well as your Power of Art. I can’t wait until the movie comes out.

Oh? It already did?

Best wishes, Juno

Marking Territory & Dog Imperialism

Here's Max. He came to visit us this morning. I remember when he was a puppy, and now look how he’s all grown up and regal with his straight shoulders and fluffy black mane. Even Shane was impressed into silent curiosity—he didn't make a sound, not even when Joan gave Max a biscuit. Wow. There’s a first. But, Max did a great deal of territory marking around the entire perimeter of our fence. God, that's such a very male thing to do.

I don’t get it, though, because he lives two blocks from here, so it’s kind of imperialistic of him to come all this way to claim my yard; also, we’ve walked past his yard maybe three or four hundred times, and we’ve never marked territory there. Shane and I are like, say, Switzerland; we mind our own business. Taking over territory is such a human thing; I guess the activity was bound to rub off on dogs, especially the male dogs.

Well, it’s Christmas Eve, so I’ll try to be more accepting of such behavior. It’s a sunny day. The house smells of cookies and ironing and shampoo. Joan’s thinking of giving me a bath, which would be a bit too much work for her, don’t you think? Later on, we’ll take a walk past Max’s house. I want to sniff out some of his neighbors’ yards to see if he’s got his eye on their places as well as ours. Males. They want it all.

Wishing the world a Merry Christmas. And, just in case wishes actually come true, I wish for peace in the world—of course, before that happens, everyone will have to give up the marking of territory.
Juno

How To Be A Dog

" Yo, Juno. What do I do to get inside? I forget."

Shane doesn’t know how to ask for things, so he’s not really a dog. Dogs know how to get the things they want by various means that include barking at the door or at a box of dog biscuits; looking sad by drooping the eyes or staring at the floor; looking cute by perhaps cocking the head or lifting one ear or just staring politely at a human while said human is eating—the cute factor, by the way, is the most powerful of all—looking enormously intelligent by following a piece of food as it goes from a plate into a human mouth or sitting when told to do so.

It’s really easy, but Shane doesn’t get it. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Take our neighbor, Buddy. Now Buddy knows how to get one, two, or even three biscuits a day from Joan. He simply stands on his hind legs by the back hedge and barks. Joan says, “Okay Buddy; here’s your treat.” And he gets a treat. (You can read more about Buddy by clicking here.)

It’s the same way for every other dog who hangs around the fence. Joan says, “Hi Doggie. Would you like a biscuit?” And she hands over a biscuit.

Now, when Shane is outside and wants to go inside, he sits and stares at the door. So, if you go by our house when Shane and I are both outside, you’ll see me staring at all the neighborhood activity, and you’ll see Shane staring at the front door. He doesn’t know he’s supposed to bark to get in. By now, it’s been hundreds of times that he’s witnessed the getting-inside process. I go to the door and bark; Joan opens the door; we go inside. But, he never does it. I have to do all his barking for him.

That’s why I’m not so sure he’s a real dog. Sure, he smells like one; he’s got four legs and dog breath; but that’s where the canine qualities begin to ebb. Yet, whatever he is, he’s pretty nice to me, and I’m nice to him. I guess that’s more important than fitting into a neat category. Besides, dogs aren’t very good at categorizing. That’s more of a human urge.

Best wishes, Juno

My Life Story

It just kills Joan that she didn’t know me as a puppy and that she doesn’t know what happened to me to make me end up in the care of the Little Shelter in Huntington. Someone brought me to the Little Shelter from Queens, they fixed all my injuries, and then Joan walked in and said, “I need that dog!” and she took me home.

Isn’t that enough of a story?

I guess humans feel more secure when they have a solid and detailed rundown of every aspect of life. Not dogs. We’re very good at feeling and smelling all the tiny and big things around us; we’re excellent at sniffing all the corners and crannies of every moment and every hour—even the sleeping hours. If we ever react to a past moment, it’s only a reflex. Then, we shake ourselves back into the present and life goes on. I think we’re that way because we don’t live very long. What a waste of hours it would be to think about past injuries.

The only thing I reflect on is Joan’s morning cappuccino. But, I reflect on it only in anticipation—never in retrospect. When it’s gone, it’s gone; and I look forward to the next morning knowing I’ll have another whiff of coffee flavor and another lick of cappuccino foam. Now, that’s living in the present.

Best wishes, Juno

They're Back

We try not to stare, which would be rude. But, aren't they staring at us?

They’re back. Last year, the neighbors across the street had a visit—or maybe it was a visitation—from some smiling otherworldly creatures that lit up every night and bobbled around with the breezes, and then collapsed into flat white shadows after everyone fell asleep. Then, one day, they were gone. At first, I thought about them; but, then, they disappeared from my memory.

Well, today, they popped up again, and it's as though they never left, as though the twelve months since their last appearance never existed. At first, Shane got frightened and barked at them. Not me. I try to be way cooler than that.

They ignored us last year, but this year, I feel their eyes on us. And even when we're inside the house, I think they're trying to see what's going on. Maybe they want to be friends. Maybe they're just curious. Maybe they feel bad about snubbing us last year.

I'm a little concerned about saying the first hello, because they might get the wrong idea, might think I'm being too friendly, too in need of friends. Whenever we walk through the neighborhood, Joan says hello to everyone we pass. Most of the time, the people say hello back. But, lots of times, they just look at the ground or grunt. If I say the first hello to these visitors, they might grunt, too; and then my feelings would be hurt. So, until I get a little better at handling rejection, I'm just going to play it cool.

Best wishes, Juno

First Snow on Autumn Leaves

The first snow of the season, and I’m so happy to spend the day lying in snow, licking snow, treading through snow, sleeping in snow. But, Joan thinks I’ll get frost bite. Frost bite! I’m a dog, you know. (She forgets. La vecchiaia è corogna.)

Usually, the snow lies still over the sleeping grass of winter, but this time, it settles on the fallen leaves. And the leaves are trapped and don't know what to do with themselves; so they tremble and wave their yellow fingers just above the white shroud.

Shane doesn’t really like the snow. This morning, he ran out the door as usual, and then he stopped when he discovered that the ground had turned white and cold. He always does things like that. You know, he leaps before he looks. Then, he wants to go back and do it all over again the right way. But, by then, it’s too late.

Best wishes, Juno

Shane On A Foggy NIght

I think Shane needs some attention. He’s been looking very sweet lately, looking for love, looking for kind words. Look how handsome he is with those white teeth (sharp), those soft brown eyes, that neck like a tree trunk. It’s not his fault that he has “issues” in life. People were very mean to him when he was a puppy, and he never got over it.

Me. Yes, people were mean to me, too; but, I’m a different breed. We’re not all alike, you know. Just like people aren’t all alike.

Anyway, I’m saying all this because tonight Shane got scared of something that wasn’t human—the fog. I’m usually the one who’s scared of things that aren’t human, and he’s the one who’s only scared of humans.

Well, he just asked to go outside, and when Joan opened the door, he took one look at all that gray fog and refused to go near the door. He just sat down and lowered his head as though the foggy mass would turn suck him from the safety of the house.
We had to go outside to show him that just because you’re surrounded by fog, it doesn’t mean you’re going to get swallowed up by it. It convinced him to come outside, but he ran back inside. Poor baby.

Now, I see that Shane and I do have something in common. I’m afraid of noises; he’s afraid of the silent fog. It’s a start.

Best wishes, Juno

Happy Thanksgiving

Shane stretched out after watching everyone eat Chix Patties with all the trimmings.
Look how Ari loves me unconditionally.

So, by now you know that Thanksgiving in the Juno-Shane house doesn’t include turkey. Last year, Joan made “Tofurky,” but she didn’t like the fact that it came with its own stuffing. She likes her own much better. So, this year was Chix Patty year with real cranberry sauce, organic potatoes, butternut squash, pumpkin pie, and, oh, I could just go on and on. It was fun. Charles was here for some of the goodies, but he went to Aunt Maureen’s for a “real” turkey dinner. Shane and I weren’t included.

Then, Joan and Ari spent an hour on the web cam with Pam and Jim and Shana. Poor Shana was sad to be so far away on Thanksgiving. Shane went in to see what was up with the web cam, but not me. I’m scared of the floor. So slippery. Instead, I snuck up on the couch when no one was looking. When they found me, I looked so cute, everyone just said, “Awwwwwww.” (Humans: so easy.)

Happy Thanksgiving around the world, even if you don’t celebrate it.

Juno

The Cappuccino Plan

She drank it all?

I had devised a plan to block Joan’s exit from the couch, to make her my prisoner, at least, until she was sufficiently saddened by my mournful glance, my longing gaze at her luscious cup of morning cappuccino, to give in and share.

Usually she gives me three fingers of cappuccino foam--first, the index finger; then, the middle finger; then, the ring finger. Then she says, "Good dog. That's all. The rest is mine." Don’t think I’m not grateful, but I want more. How I love coffee, especially morning cappuccino. And, really, Joan makes enough to meet the caffeine needs of an entire family.

So, the minute she sat down with her cappuccino, I would park myself between the couch and the coffee table, taking care to lie down on her slippers. Joan would be stuck on the couch until I relented, and I would refuse to relent until she gave me a few more luscious dabs of cappuccino foam.

But, this morning, she figured out that she can simply step over me. And, she can do it without slippers!

Very clever, Joan. Very clever, indeed. I’ll have to come up with a better plan.

Best wishes, Juno.

Watching the People Eat Ice-Cream

Interesting things happen down the block. I think the people fix cars, so there’s always something to listen to—some little squeak, a grinding of some sort of metal thing, a spinning of rubber, a horn, a bad word or two. And there’s always something to watch. The humans bend over the motor and twist things and take things out and stick them back again and slam things and yell, “Not now! I’m busy!” Humans get so mad at machines. Dogs never care about machines. We don’t need them, so we don’t get mad at them.

Sometimes the ice-cream truck comes down the block playing the same tune over and over and over. And when it does, all the big and little people at that end of the street run out of their houses and line up like little kids on the cafeteria line at school. And they unwrap their treats like it's Christmas, like they’re desperate for a big sugary surprise to sweeten up their lives. I sit and watch them lick and smile and chomp and grin until the big rectangle of ice and sugar turns into a skinny stick—nothing left but the stick, the wrapper, and the memory. They usually throw all three of them in the garbage or the street. That's great for the ice-cream seller, because the next time he goes around the block, the people run out and do the same thing over again.

Actually, I wouldn’t mind having one of those treats, but Joan doesn’t line up with the people.

And, there are dogs who live on the other side of those ice-cream-eating people down the block. They come around the corner and stare. It drives Shane crazy, but I just sit and stare back. Okay, sometimes, I whine a little, but that’s just to let them know I’m a softie.

Before the people moved in, I never paid much attention to that end of the block. Now, I sit and watch.

Best wishes, Juno

Affection on a Cold Day

"No, Charles, I really do love it out here in the cold. And, where's your jacket?"

Ah, the cold. I love the cold weather. Give me a patch of ice—a cold hard place in a field of green—and I’m there. Charles approached me with gentile care as I meditated upon the benefits of cold on my allergic skin. I tried to explain it to him, but, the poor man didn’t get it. He thinks the cold is something to be avoided—unless, of course, he’s skiing; then, it’s okay.

Oh, to err is to be human.

Shane trembles in the cold. Every morning he goes tearing out the door, all gung-ho and full of energy, looking for little animals or shadows to chase. Then, he stops in his tracks, looks at the icy dew on the grass, and runs back to the door—unless, of course, Joan comes outside with us. But, she’s always saying, “Brrrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrrrr,” which is a little unsettling since I’m thinking “Brrrrrrrrr” is a good thing, and she and Shane are hoping to escape the “Brrrrrrr” as soon as possible. Me? I’m Alaska dog. Antarctic dog. That’s just the way I am.

On our walk this afternoon, a man in a truck wanted to know which dog he could have—me or Shane. Joan told him that she loved us too much to give us up. I went up to the truck to get petted on the head, but I think the man was a little afraid of me, because he kept saying, “Good dog, good dog” in a nervous little way. But, the truth is he didn’t know what to do with all my affection.

Charles, on the other hand, is very good about accepting my affection. It seems to calm him. Did you know that people who have dogs have lower blood pressure than people who live without us? I don’t mean the people who get dogs and stick them on a leash in the backyard; I mean people who have dogs and take care of us. Yup. It’s true. And, with all that low blood pressure, they live longer, happier lives. You can read it in JAMA, which might put you to sleep, or you can take it from the source—that’s me.

Here’s to the cold!
Best wishes, Juno

Just Wag Your Tail

I swear, I don't have imaginary friends.

You can’t see him, but you can smell him. He’s a little dog with a great big head, all black, short hair, very stocky. He must live down the block, because he shows up on a regular basis and causes me to get up and bark. If only he’d come up to the fence and say hello, I wouldn’t bark. The trouble is, the second I see him, he hides. That’s why you probably won’t believe me when I tell you that he’s not my imaginary friend. Imaginary friends don’t make you bark; they’re nice to you; they play tag with you. (Uhm, at least that’s what I’ve heard.)

I think it’s a good thing to say hello. It makes the neighborhood calmer, more tranquil, friendlier. Sometimes, dogs who seem really scary turn out to be very friendly. All you have to do is wag your tail when you see them, and they change from tough to mush in a split second.

People around here are like that, too. They look all mean with their pant waists wrapped around their knees, bopping down the street with their eyes all scrunched up and their lips curled into a snarly pose. Well, all I have to do is wag my tail, and they get the biggest smile on their faces and say, “Hello, beautiful.” You should try it. Unless you’re human and don’t have a tail. Then, well, you could just smile and say hello yourself.

Best wishes, Juno

A Dog's Advice: No One Listens

Now that it’s November, I like to spend more time outside. As long as it’s cold and my belly is full, I’m happy.

On our walk this evening, I met someone who was afraid of me. I sat down very quietly, hoping she would come and pet me, but nothing. I guess there are times in life with the mountain just refuses to come to Mohammad. The trouble is, sometimes Mohammad had better steer clear of the mountain, because the mountain has fear, and when things have fear, they also have danger. So, I finally analyzed all this and moved down the block.

When we got to the corner, I looked around and saw the woman run to her car, her eyes on me, the fear showing in her tight lips. And so I felt sad about the whole thing. As I explain to Shane on a daily basis, fear can be managed; you just have to treat it as if it has no power, and, puff, it’s gone.

No one listens.

Okay, fine, I don’t even listen to myself. But, that’s different. I’m afraid of sudden loud noises, because they come out of the unknown. But, I’m not afraid of things that are just sitting in front of me. And I’m certainly not afraid of myelf.

Best wishes, Juno

Halloween & Me: 2007

I'm getting a little too old for Halloween. It used to be more of a thing—you know, little kids all dressed up, and I wasn't sure what it was all about, but they smelled like chocolate, so I was pretty sure it must be good.

Now, it's still interesting to see them walking down the street looking strange and still smelling like a dessert treat, but I don't really feel up to getting up every time they come into the yard.

Joan put this scarf on my head to get me in the mood. It didn't work. Shane is sitting by the candy dish, which is on the little table by the front door, hoping no one will come and take it away. I don't know why, since he's not allowed to eat it. See, it's true. You always want what you can't have.

Me? Well, it's sort of just another day for me. I must be getting old, perhaps seeing life in a different way, losing my taste for empty calories.

The yard is a good place to sit; it's my vantage point from where I watch the children come and go each year—all dressed up, smelling like chocolate, swinging their plastic bags filled with forbidden pleasures.

Happy Halloween, Juno

In Bathelot

You've heard of Camelot? Well, that's not where I live. No. I live in Bathalot, because that's what it feels like. And, there's no Sir Lancelot to help save me; just Ms Joan Sure Shampoos-alot. No Merlin's magic, just this girl dog in the tub, and I don't get it.

Every time I get just the right amount of smelly, I get another bath. A lot. And, even though it feels good once I'm all dried and fluffed out, it's little comfort during that first moment when I see Joan getting out the dog shampoo and dry towels.

Anticipation can be a real problem.

Joan always says, “This is going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you.” But, Joan's thinking of her back, and I'm thinking of my dignity. Which would you rather hurt? Not that I actually get hurt. It's all just so disturbing and worrisome.

However, now that I've complained, I have to admit that the results are more than appealing.
Now, Shane escaped getting a bath again today. He gets one bath for every three of mine. Shane with that slippery seal fur never gets dirty. I don't get it. Why me? And don't say why not me, because then I have to ask, “Why not you?

Oh, wait. Humans are always taking baths. Okay, forget it.

The good thing about getting a bath is that I know I won't get another one for maybe three weeks or more, depending on weather conditions and how much dirt I absorb in the coming days. It's certain that I'm home free for the next few weeks, and that's a huge relief. At last, I've found a silver lining in a once-dark cloud. I knew it was there. I just had to sniff it out.

Best wishes, Juno

Nerves and Vantage Points

Shane is nervous; I have allergies. And we contend with it all without lament.

From this spot on the couch, I watch Joan typing away in the computer room, her back to me, her mind all caught up in some story—real, not real; it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I can see her, but she can’t see me. I like that.

Now, Shane gets all upset when Joan can’t see him. He rises up on his haunches and pants in his nervous way, hoping she’ll turn around and tell him everything’s okay. And once in a while, she does just that, and she looks at me with a little smile, knowing that I know how things are with nervous dogs, knowing that I like my private vantage point.

When I get sleepy, I get off the couch—which is officially banned for dog use, but somehow we get away with it, which is due to our huge cute factor, something many humans have a hard time resisting.

As I was about to say, I prefer to sleep in my own dog bed in Joan’s bedroom. Somehow, when the lights go out, and there’s nothing to look at, the couch is but a lonely perch, and I am but a lonely dog. And then it’s off to bed until the light of day coaxes us back into the real world of daydreams and little romps with creativity.

Best wishes, Juno

Making Sense--Dog Sense

This is what I look like when I refuse to walk. See the hesitation in my stance, the trepidation in my narrowed eyes? Joan says, “Don’t be afraid; nothing’s going to hurt you.” How does she know?

Why, just yesterday she gave me the same assurance, and then she heard what I had been hearing all along—a motorcycle coming closer, closer, closer, like some monster killer bee from another hemisphere. She forgets that humans don’t hear what dogs hear, smell what dogs smell—Joan’s happy about that one—or fear what we fear.

So, today, we were walking down the block when a little girl called out to me. She was about three years old, standing in her yard with her mom and baby brother. The mom kept saying how beautiful Shane and I were. I kissed the girl through the fence, and she laughed. Then she said, “This dog thinks I’m great!” Joan said, “She sure does.” Then we said goodbye and went on our way.

A minute later, I heard a shaking noise, like someone banging on the ground. It might have been a truck; it might have been King Kong. So I panicked and had to stop. That’s when Joan took this picture of me. Then we turned around and went home. And I was content to give in to my fear, because sometimes, well, it just makes sense to go home and sit on the grass.

And that’s my story.

Best wishes, Juno

Shane and the Butterflies

Shane dreams loudly. He talks in his sleep, and sometimes he even runs in his sleep. I know that because he lies on his side with his eyes closed and paws the air. He’s dreaming. I’m not sure what sorts of dreams cause him to talk and run, but I’m going to guess it’s butterflies.

That’s because butterflies are his passion. He runs after rabbits, he chases cats even when they’re on the other side of the fence—even when they’re on Animal Planet—and, of course, he thinks he can scale a tree when he’s after a squirrel. But, he never bothers butterflies. Why? Because he loves their colors and knows they travel from Canada to Mexico in great flocks, and that’s impressive enough for him.

So, then, why would he be running in his sleep? In his sleep, he thinks he’s flying to Mexico with the butterflies. In his sleep, he thinks he has wings, for wings give you power.

And that’s about it for dream analysis—at least for now.

I might be considered cool and golden hearted, and I know that lots of people are afraid of Shane. And, yes, I have to admit that he's one complicated dog. But, if you consider his respect for butterflies, you can't help but notice that he's pretty cool and golden hearted himself.

Best wishes, Juno

P.S.: Jaaron went back home. Alas, I miss her already.

Big Dog, Big Feet: It's A Match

I keep my paws close to me. Shane spreads his, just like a guy.

If you hold my paw next to Shane’s paw, you’ll see that his are on the dainty side; and if I had been a girl in ancient China, the beauty police would have bound my feet. That’s how big they are.

But, I like my big feet for they carry the rest of me with great assurance and sturdiness. In other words, we match. Sometimes I just sit there and cross them so I can look down and admire their round contours, the thick nails that I try to bite, but to no avail. Other times, I just lick them earnestly.

Shane doesn’t admire his paws. Oh, I’m sure he appreciates having them, but, for him, paws are just another part of his anatomy. For such a handsome dog, he’s surprisingly non-narcissistic. Me? It’s not like I’m one of those oh-look-at-me girls in high boots and tight jeans. I simply appreciate the niceties of having four legs, fluffy fur, and big paws.

I like being me. I like being.

Best wishes, Juno

On Being Loved

This is Jaaron. She loves me as you can clearly see by the way she rests her hand on me and smiles right into my heart. Jaaron has two dogs, Ziggy and Zion, and if you’ve ever read this blog, you already know that. If you haven’t read about them, you can read about them here.

It’s nice to sit on Jaaron’s lap pondering life in all its yin and yang, ups and downs, ins and outs. Sometimes, it’s very very quiet around the house, but this weekend opened the door and welcomed in a lot of activity that involved cooking huge plates of food and washing dishes and eating and talking, talking, talking. People really like to talk.

Shana and Mark were here; Ari was here; Charles was here; Kyla was here; Jaaron’s still here. Everyone was showing me so much love—well—except when I barked too loudly and made Mark say a very weak, “Shhhhhh.” But, after he ate his pizza, he didn’t mind anymore. No one minded anything after they ate.

Ahhhh, life. It’s so good.

Best wishes, Juno

Watching Bugs and Rabbits

Sometimes I just like a cold, hard floor.

Outside. Inside. Outside. Inside. Couch. Floor. Bed. Carpet. Grass. Cement. Walk. Sit.

Decisions.

A dog makes decisions based on things a human could never understand. When Joan finds me lying on the tile floor in the kitchen, she asks, “Why are you lying on the cold hard floor? I paid all that money for your soft doggy bed.”

Well, obviously I can’t answer that. Sometimes, I just like the floor.

One of my favorite outdoor spots is between the grass and the cold hard cement block at the bottom of the sunroom steps. From there, I can monitor backyard activity at ground level. That means I can see all sorts of grassy goings on that would be missed from a higher perch—say at the top of the steps.

You’d be surprised at the busy bug life beneath your feet, at the way the blades of grass rub against one another and arch their backs toward the sunlight. Sometimes a rabbit makes a crazy and foolish dash across the yard to its safe house—well, safe under-house—under the shed. It’s lucky for the rabbits that Shane doesn’t like to sit here, because he’s very fast on his feet for a dog on a slimming diet.

For me, it’s not worth the effort to chase the silly rabbits. What would I do if I caught one? I'd say, "Hello, Rabbit. I like carrots, too" and then go back to my spot and lie down again.

Best wishes, Juno

Anticipation and a Hug from Scott in Scrubs

So glad to be home again. Whew.

There are times when you have to face the known, even though you know you’re not going to like the experience. And there are times when you have to stare into the eyes of the unknown, even if you’re quivering with fear.

Let me explain.

Today, I was as nervous as a mouse in a bag of cat food because it was time for our annual checkup at Babylon Animal Hospital. Wow. Just staring at that dark and ominous picture glass outside of the building gave me such palpitations. What would happen? What would they do to me? To Shane? To Joan?

Joan put Shane’s muzzle on him, pushed open the heavy glass door, and brought us into the slippery tile of the gray and blue waiting room. All eyes fell on us. The woman behind the counter fired questions in our direction.

Why were we there? Would we sign in? Did we have an appointment? The people waiting in the room gave us little smiles of concern that bordered on pity. They knew my fear.

My heart beat heavily in my chest. My mind raced down the fog-filled alleyways of anticipation. The vet was in the back getting her tools of destruction ready, sharpening her knives and knitting needles, filling them with foul smelling drugs that would soon take over my mind, my body, my life. She would poke me in sensitive spots and announce that I was too fat and maybe even hurt me with that cold thing that dangles carelessly from her doctor’s neck.

Scott, a handsome young man in blue scrubs, came out to get us. “Juno and Shane,” he called.

As it turned out, Scott was really kind to us. He even petted Shane and said he was one good looking dog. Shane wasn’t sure how to take the compliment, so he growled. Just in case the kindness was a ruse.

Dr. Schmitt came in and petted us with enthusiasm. She said nice things to us and tried to make us feel relaxed. It worked for me, but Shane. . . . Well, Shane is forever Shane.

When the vet started to poke around my body, Scott slipped his strong arms around me and held me against his heart, whispering sweet things in my ear.

“Hi, Juno. I’m Scott.”

I looked deeply into his eyes.

“Don’t’ be afraid,” he said. “No one will hurt you.”

I just knew in my instinctive soul that he was telling the truth. A guy who wears an earring always has a gentle side.

Shane nearly had a heart attack. He was really scared, thinking people would do terrible and unspeakable things to him. Good thing he was wearing his muzzle. Good thing for Scott and nice Dr. Schmitt.

And so we exited the tunnel of the known and the unknown to find that life always provides a way out. And sometimes the things you think will hurt you the most turn out to be the very things that make life a treat. Like a hug. Like a kind word. Like the best part of the day, which was when Dr. Schmitt said I wasn’t fat at all. See? I knew it all along. I’m just right.

Shane? He’s on a little diet, but we’ll let that be our little secret. He doesn’t even know about it.

Best wishes, Juno

Shane: Chasing Fear

If you walk past my yard, you might notice me and Shane watching you from inside the chain-link fence. Me? I’ll just look at you, sniff your passing scent, and maybe give you a tail wag.

But, Shane will work himself into a frenzy. Beginning with a low growl of a bark, he’ll dig his claws into the grass and make his body taut like a crossbow ready to snap. As soon as you step foot in front of the fence, he’ll race down to the gate making sure you don’t try to touch it. Don’t mess with the gate, people!

Then, once you pass the gate, he’ll follow you to the end of the yard and bark at your back until you disappear or until Joan calls for him to come inside.

Shane loves to be called away from his phantom dangers. That’s because he really doesn’t like to act the way he acts. He simply doesn’t know any other way to encounter the unknown.

But, sometimes he acts more like me, especially if the person is cool. And by cool, I mean Dalai Lama cool, not home-boy cool.

He allows cool people in the yard with nothing more than an enthusiastic wagging of the tail. See? If you’re not afraid, he’s not afraid. All that barking and tensing up and chasing retreating shadows is nothing more than fear.

Me? I’m not afraid of you, so I let you enter and exit my world in complete peace. And you don’t have to be the actual Dalai Lama.

Best wishes, Juno

Floating On Gravity

I’ve told you about the kitten that lives across the street. She’s not too tiny anymore, and I think she’s got a friend. Watching them play reminds me of nothing I’ve ever done. It’s like watching a hunt where no one gets killed or a dance that makes its own music out of silence.

It’s just before complete night, and the cats are bouncing all over the yard. They’re here! Poof! They’re gone. Hey, there they are! No! They went that way! Wait! Where’d they go? And then. Surprise! Here they are again.

The speeding cats blend with the fuzziness of dusk before the moonlight arrives, but you can still make them out as they tumble over each other and scatter the fallen leaves from their final sleeping place on the autumn grass. If there’s such a thing as a cat laugh, they’re doing it.

I wouldn’t know how to be a cat.

To be a decent cat, you need a certain lightness of foot and slightness of body that allows you to sit on gravity as though it were a comfy recliner or a magic carpet. Shane has some catlike qualities, even though he’s big and, well, a little clumsy sometimes. You see, it’s not just graceful anti-gravitational moves that make a cat; it’s attitude. And Shane is surrounded with a definite feline aura that demands you keep your distance until he comes to you. Or else.

Now, I know that if I were to trot across the street to play with those cats, they’d run away from me, never get to know me, or learn how much I admire the way they scratch their claws into the laws of physics.

But, if I sit here for a long time and remain very quiet, watching their every move without scaring them, someday they might come over to say hello.

And then, who knows what friendships might be born?

Best wishes, Juno

Beauty: My Art

Beauty is my art, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t take effort, and I’m certainly not going to make believe there isn’t some drudgery involved.

Take bath time. Not a favorite for me or possibly for any dog. But, we submit, because we know it will bring happiness to the people we live with. We won’t smell up the house; we won’t be all greasy and gray; we’ll be clean enough to sneak up on the couch when no one is home without leaving a telltale odor behind. Yes, I guess cleanliness has its perks.

But, the truth is, a human’s idea of beauty and a dog’s idea of beauty are very different. There’s a special sort of canine beauty in being a little stinky, maybe a little dirty, maybe a little greasy. It makes us who we are and helps other dogs figure out if we’re cool or on edge or frisky or grumpy.

However, just to make Joan happy, I have tried to adopt her impossibly human values and apply them—or allow them to be applied—to myself. That’s why I call beauty my art.

But, I’m not going to get silly about it. I’m not going to try to squeeze into a size zero or get my nails painted or get my lips plumped. That’s just going too far. Besides, then I’d completely lose my uniqueness. Shane would get confused, Buddy would run away from me, and Ish wouldn’t want to play anymore. Joan might think I got kidnapped by one of those Stepford wives and turned into a robot.

I do look nice in pink, though. Don’t you think?

Best wishes, Juno

Car Rides and Pictures of Garbage

It's not as though it's good garbage.

We finally got a ride in the car after two weeks of mournful deprivation. It wasn’t a long ride, but it was cool. That feeling when the wind brushes our faces makes me and Shane feel like we’re almost flying. Not that I want to fly—it would be a little unnerving to be buzzing around over the rooftops. What would people think?

Wait, I’ve changed my mind. If we could fly, we could check out the backyards where dogs live and maybe drop in—hee-hee—for a nice visit, especially now that so many neighbors are living behind plastic privacy fences. There are so many friends we don’t get to see anymore.

Anyway, the ride kind of lulled us, so when we got home, I really wasn’t in the mood for a walk. But, Joan insisted. The truth is, she wanted to take pictures of the local street garbage for her next blog entry. (Yes, she writes a blog just like I do. Humans. So cute.) Now that people live behind fences, there’s more garbage than ever. I wouldn’t mind if it were edible, but it’s usually just paper and lots of unmentionables. We didn’t get too far before I sat down next to a bag of MacDonald trash to protest. I mean, if we’re going to walk, let’s walk.

When we got home, I sat undisturbed in the yard and watched a few cars pass by, but then I got lonely and went inside to spend some quality family time with Shane and Joan. We don’t say a lot, but we feel the love.

Best wishes, Juno

For the Love of Couches

Our house has two couches, and I love them with equal passion. The one in the sunroom is very small—at least for me—but, it’s big enough to fold its armrests around me and keep me feeling secure.

There’s usually some sort of sheet covering its natural red skin. That’s because it’s easier to wash a sheet than to wash a couch. When human company arrives, Joan takes the sheet off and pretends that I never use the couch for my own comfort. But I do.

Sleeping, or even meditating, on the sunroom couch is a daytime activity. The sun always reaches through the windows and brings out the natural highlights in my fur while warming me just enough to remind me that I’m the luckiest dog in the universe.

The only drawback to lying on the sunroom couch is the fact that no one else can sit there with me, and that’s a little lonely. A couch without another body is an incomplete experience.

However, there’s the living room couch. Joan bought that couch brand new about ten years ago. At that time Leo, Karen Fontana’s dog, used to visit every day. Leo was a Chow Chow who loved to sit on the back of the couch and look out the window. Well, Leo kind of ruined the back of the couch, but Joan keeps it because it’s too expensive to buy another couch. Of course, the living-room couch also has a sheet over it.

Every now and then, I feel the need to lie on that couch. When I do, Joan sits at the other end and rests her leg on my back. It makes me feel that I’m part of the loving world and nothing bad can happen. Once in a while, Shane sneaks up on the couch before Joan gets to sit down. There’s no room for three of us, so Joan just stands there and wonders where to sit. Poor humans. They think too much.

The living room couch has the extra benefit of being near the television with its programs on Animal Planet. I like to watch Animal Cops because there’s always a happy ending for some of the animals.

I wonder if Leo knows that his couch is still here.

Best wishes, Juno

The Vision

Shane and I are so different.

I almost met a handsome dog tonight. But, he was afraid to come too close. Can you see him in the picture? I called to him, but he pretended he didn’t hear me.

Until the dog arrived on the block, I hadn’t wanted to go for a walk, and I especially didn’t want to make a left. Shane and I sat outside of the gate. I looked to the left and wanted no part of it. Shane looked to the right and couldn’t understand why I was holding up the works.

And, then, I saw a vision, a captivating masterpiece of a dog with stand-up ears and a sleek but masculine neck unfettered by chains and collars. He was trotting around the bend at the end of the street looking all free, his tail up, his head proud, thinking what a great evening it was to take a little tour around the barrio.

Then, he saw me and Shane. Down came his head; his curly tail straightened; and you could see his nostrils flare as he grabbed our scent from the breeze. Joan said he was pretty. Shane was curious and began to whine. But, me, I yapped it up, hoping he’d come over and say hello.

But, no, he was too scared. Around he turned and off he trotted, pretending he was all brave and indifferent. But, I know he wanted to get closer to me. He just didn’t know how.

After a minute or so, we walked down the street in his direction. But, there was nothing left but his scent, which was quickly caught under the wheels of some passing cars. I wasn’t about to go chasing after a vanishing dream, so I pulled at the leash and forced Joan and Shane to turn back.

I’m going to spend the next hour or two stretched out on the cool grass watching the full moon try to squeeze through the thick gray clouds. Maybe the dog will show up again. Not that I’m interested.

Best wishes, Juno

Disappointment Is Just Another Experience

What a disappointment. I thought we were going for a car ride. I can’t believe I misread Joan. I can’t believe it. So, that means we don’t necessarily go out in the car every time Joan goes into the garage. Oh, rats!

What could I do? I looked as sad as possible. I even tried my sure-fire sigh, lowering my head so she could see the tragedy playing itself out in my heart. Nothing worked.

Why can’t I be more like Shane? He didn’t care at all. He just wagged his tail and forgot the whole thing. He’s so cool about life’s letdowns. But, me, I really feel them in the most dramatic way.

We did go for a walk, but we had to come back through the shortcut because there was a plane zipping around behind the clouds, and the noise scared me.

Some people stopped their car to ask what kind of dog I was. “That dog a malamute?” they asked. Joan said she didn’t think so. She said she thought I was a Newfy-Pyranees. Secretly, I think she just likes saying the word.

Pretty soon, though, that plane made me forget my disappointment, and all I wanted to do was get back to the safety of the home front. And that’s exactly what we did. Shane and I sat in the back yard and enjoyed the view. I feel much better now.

Best wishes, Juno

The Evening Show

"Come on, Juno. Just walk."

Tonight, I surprised everyone by walking the entire distance around the block without sitting down once. Shane was highly approving. He never objects to my little fears, but he does sigh a great deal when I get stuck in one position—usually a sitting-down position—and refuse to budge.

It had rained during the day, so Joan tried to keep us on the dry parts of the street. Lots of people had thrown the remains of their MacDonald’s and White Castle orders into the streets. There must have been a run on junk food, because there were a lot more wrappers and soda cups than usual. Shane tried to grab some of it, but Joan caught him in time. She kept trying to whisper, “Yuk. Don’t touch that garbage.” But, she still has laryngitis. People can’t sound determined and serious when their voices don’t work.

Buddy was barking in the next yard when we got back, so Joan threw a biscuit over the fence. Then, I heard him munching and wagging his tail against his dog house.

I sat in the backyard until Buddy finished his biscuit and dozed off. Then I meandered to the front yard to watch the kitten across the street pretend she was stalking mice. She squished herself into a furry gray ball and moved like a turtle across the yard; then, all of a sudden, she popped high in the air, her legs sticking out at her sides, and landed back on earth, once more a little ball, and inched her way across the yard. She did it over and over again until she got bored.

She must have known that I was admiring her performance, for she kind of strutted up her porch steps, holding her head very high. A gust of wind lifted her gently up to the swing seat, and there she sat looking just like a tiny and noble lion.

Best wishes, Juno

When A Human Can't Talk

Shhhhhhhhhhh.

Joan lost her voice. She can’t tell us to do anything. She can’t talk on the phone. She can’t even say hello to the neighbors. Tonight, we were walking through the neighborhood, and a couple of new kids asked Joan what kind of dogs Shane and I were. Joan tried to say, “Big,” because it’s a short word and easier to say than, “Well I’m not sure. I think Shane is part Shepherd and Juno is part Newfy.” Little kids wouldn’t understand that anyway. But, the word big came out in a heavy whisper, and I’m not sure the kids heard her.

Then another neighbor was driving by and stopped his car: “Hey, Joan! How you doing?” he called. Poor Joan had to say hello without using her voice. I think he understood, though, because he said he hoped she’d be feeling better, and off he drove.

What an adventure in communication.

Now, if I lost my voice, I’d never be able to ask to come inside, and I wouldn’t know how to get people to give me extra attention. Joan knows how to get inside all by herself, so that’s no problem for her. But, if you can’t talk to people, they forget you very quickly. Joan’s in luck, though, because dogs don’t care if people can talk or not. And, we don’t forget our friends even when they get sick and can’t talk.

Also, we have a way of knowing things without verbal promptings.

Take tonight. Joan had to go to the store to get some medicine for her throat. Shane and I knew she was going to take us with her even before she knew it. And, when she went into the garage, there we were, waiting by the car.

Not only that, but we know what she would have said if she had been able to talk. She would have said, “Wow. How did you know you were coming with me? You’re such smart dogs.”

See what I mean? We don’t need to hear words out loud. We read them in thought form.

I’m going to sit outside now and think about extrasensory perception.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: See? I didn’t really have to write “best wishes,” because you already knew that I wished them for you.

Scooby and Taylor’s Yard Sale

Yard Sale Mavens

In picture number one, we have a beautiful Taylor proudly parading her flower bonnet. So charming. Work it, Taylor.

In picture number two, we have our friend Scooby looking ever so quizzical. The camera loves her.

Scooby and Taylor had a yard sale today, and I was invited. Shane mostly waited in the car because he feels more secure looking out the window, pretending he’s king of the back seat.

I had never been to a yard sale before—there were toys and dishes, tables and chairs, and even a skateboard. Whoooooosh!

But, my favorite part was meeting Scooby. I think he was a little scared of me, though, because he’s only about as big as my head. But, he’s sooooooooo sweet.

No one else was scared of me.

Alena and Vlad—Scooby and Taylor’s best friends—weren’t afraid of me at all. Can you believe those kids came all the way from Russia just to take care of Scooby and Taylor? That was so thoughtful of them. But, I think they loved me, too, because they hugged me and told me I was big and beautiful.

Everyone felt bad that Shane was in the car, so Joan took him out so he could take part in the happiness of the day. He stayed very close to Joan, but I think he felt good about being included. He was so nicely behaved, people started saying how big and beautiful he was, too!

Now that we’ve both experienced the joy of a yard sale, we feel more sophisticated, more worldly.

Thank you, Scooby. Thank you, Taylor. See you next time.

Best wishes, Juno

Monsters to the Left of Me

There’s something about turning left that throws me off balance. Joan thinks it’s funny. Shane just gets exasperated. But, I tell you, it’s a real condition.

We walk down the driveway—that is, Joan and Shane walk down the driveway while I hang back until I’m sure nothing is amiss—and we step outside the gate into the street. If we walked straight, we’d land smack in the middle of the poison ivy that’s busy winding itself around the little wilderness of trees. It’s very shiny and really rather beautiful, but it’s not the sort of thing you want to roll in—at least that’s what Joan says. So, we have a choice—make a right or make a left.

I’ve had a problem turning left for about five years now. It comes and goes. I’ll go through weeks or months when making a left is no big deal; then, boom, out of nowhere, a left turn becomes a scary prospect, a vaporous gray monstrosity, a cunning slip of a shadow that paralyzes me with that loud mocking laughter that no one notices but me.

What’s a dog to do?

A dog turns right.

And, don’t bother reading anything political into this little problem of mine, for I’m just a dog. Sure, I write a blog, but that doesn’t make me political.

You might think my problem is sort of silly, but some humans have strange foibles, too. Maybe they don’t have left/right dilemmas, but some of them are afraid to walk down the street without a cell phone stuck to their ear; others set fire to little sticks of tobacco and suck on them; lots of them drive really fast just to prove that they can; some of them even kill each other for having thoughts different from their thoughts. But, I guess you can’t compare a dog to a human, you know, because humans are so much smarter.

So far, nothing bad has ever come from my right turns. It’s all good. Now that I think about it, nothing bad ever happened during a left turn either. So, I guess it’s all in my head, as they say. But, things in your head are always harder to deal with than things in the real world. Isn’t that true?

Best wishes, Juno

An Evening of Fireflies and Sticks

I’ve been staying indoors this week because the days are still too hot for me. But, at night I like to sit in the front yard and watch the galaxy of fireflies, which is sometimes eclipsed by a zooming car or a mini-parade of strolling people.

Tonight, was no different until Ish came over to play. Shane had to go in the house so Ish could come inside the gate. (That's him in the picture, looking out the door, ready to do battle—for what, I'm not sure.) You know, those two dogs just can’t make peace. I’ll bet they don’t even know why they don’t get along. Well, really, it’s not Ish’s fault. He’s still too young to know that it’s not a good idea to jump on Shane’s face.

Ish ran around the yard and wagged his tail. He tried to get me to play, but, come on, I’m too old for that sort of thing. Joan threw a stick for him, and he ran after it. Over and over and over, he ran after that stick. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about running after a stick?

Then, he and Joan sat on the stoop, and she put her arm around him. Harrumph. It wasn’t right to for me to be so far away from the loving, so I hauled myself up and claimed my spot on the other side of Joan. She petted both of us for a long, quiet time, and I felt a little sorry that Shane had no way of feeling the peace.

Finally, Ish went home, and Shane was able to come outside and take a nice walk with us.

It was dark already.

The breeze lifted everything—the tree branches, the heavy air, the low clouds, my spirits. The walk progressed very nicely until I heard a noise. No, it wasn’t a firecracker; it was a human who was very angry at a ball for refusing to fall into a hoop at the end of his driveway. Well, what did he expect? It was dark, after all.

I had never seen anyone get mad at a ball. Every day brings a new experience.

Best wishes, Juno

Ish Plus Shane: Call Me When It's Over

Ish keeps coming over to visit, and we have to keep him away from Shane. Once again, Cesar Milan isn’t here to whisper his tranquil-dog secrets to Shane. Joan tried his technique, but she just doesn’t have what it takes to keep Shane from losing his temper with other dogs. Especially with Ish, because Ish acts like a puppy and jumps on our faces and runs in circles and rolls over and makes his dog-grin face whenever Shane starts to go a little crazy.

Joan keeps telling Shane that Ish is sweet—I mean, just look at that handsome face—but, Shane won’t have any of it. That’s why I got to walk around the block with Ish today, and Shane had to stay home.

Wow. What a lot of work. He’s like a wind-up toy. Zoom zoooooom zoooooooooom. I was all worn out when we got back. Shane was kind of sulking, but at least he had his tranquility and his own little bed. Me? I went out and hid in my green grotto.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: There's another story about Ish on this blog. It's right here.

Meditation on Fear

"Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . "

I never pretend to be what I’m not. Some dogs pretend to be mean when they’re really just frightened; and, in that sense, they’re just like people. Other dogs do the opposite—they pretend to be friendly when they’re really just frightened, and isn’t that just so human?

But, no dogs pretend to be friendly when they’re feeling unfriendly, and that’s the opposite of human behavior. Shane never does that. He is what he is. Sometimes, though, I think he would like to be friendlier. When people say hello to me, he hides behind Joan, but sometimes he peeks out and I can see his tail move with just a hint of friendly attitude.

Now, when I’m afraid, the whole block knows it. I just sit down in the middle of the road and get a stunned look on my face—you know, my eyes get all round and my breathing gets shallow and I stare at Joan hoping she’ll get it. That’s what happened on the day someone put that big blue tarp over his car and parked it, nose first, in the woods. How was I to know it was a car? I thought the Loch Ness Monster had come up on dry land. It’s not like the guy left a note on the car telling people what was under there.

Then, there was the time those kids buzzed by us on their whiny scooters, and I thought they were insects. How was I supposed to know they were kids on scooters? No one tells me these things. It’s up to me to figure it all out.

Then, there are the things I hear that only dogs can hear—people’s thoughts, their arguments on the Parkway, their garbage cans being dragged down driveways, something sizzling in their frying pans.

Again, it’s up to me to figure it all out. I guess that’s part of living my dog’s life.

Best wishes, Juno

Walking Under Full Moons

On the night of a full moon, people say strange things happen. Well, the moon is always full, isn’t it? We just don’t see it that way. Tonight we have a full moon that everyone can see, and is it bright!

Around the block we walked, and no one was acting any stranger than usual.

Okay, I did succumb to a temporary fear of turning left, just like Zoolander. That used to happen a lot more in the past; however, the old fear still takes me by surprise—but only once in a blue moon.

And, there was a vibrating noise under the pavement that no one heard but me. I had to sit still and ponder the matter before deciding to turn around and go back the other way. We all made an about-face to the right and retraced our steps.

And, then there was that gray striped cat who followed my every move. She kept hiding behind trees, under cars, between garbage cans, and even inside someone’s house. I saw her staring at me from an upstairs window. I think she made fun of my fear of turning left, but I didn’t mind. Shane didn’t notice the cat; neither did Joan; but she was there alright.

There’s one part of the walk that always causes a little trepidation, and sometimes Joan puts her arms over her head when we pass there because there are so many bats darting around under the trees.

See? Everything was pretty much the same as it always is.

When we got back to the yard, Shane thought he saw a ghost. He turned his back to it so he wouldn’t have to think about it, but eventually curiosity got the better of him and he glanced over his shoulder. It was still there. Of course, it wasn’t a ghost at all; it was only the moon.

Shane thinks the earth revolves around the moon. That’s so cute. Everyone knows the earth revolves around the sun, but, I don’t tell Shane that. He’d be so disillusioned.

Best wishes, Juno