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

Treats from a Trainer

See Shane's Nice White Smile!

I watched the Westminster Dog Show on television this morning, and I saw so many dogs—really beautiful dogs, some with long fur, some with short fur, and a few were almost bald. The one thing all the dogs had in common was that they had trainers, and before the dogs strutted their doggy stuff before the cheering crowd, their trainers gave them a treat and pulled their leashes up at a 90-degree angle. Oh, the other thing they had in common was that everyone said how spectacular they were.

Shane and I get treats every time Joan goes out. That way we don’t have an anxiety attack or have to struggle with feelings of abandonment. We also get treats when Joan has dinner; that way we don’t feel excluded from the fun.

But, we don’t have a trainer, so we never have to roll over or strut or have our teeth checked by a dog judge—which is just as well, what with Shane’s tendency to overreact when people try to put their fingers in his mouth. Actually, Shane’s teeth are pretty nice looking. But, I advise you to take my word for it. As for me, you can check them out any time you like.

I think it’s great that all those people love dogs so much that they get all dressed up and cheer for them. But, I like getting treats just because I’m me.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: White teeth by LEBA III. Expensive, but worth it.

Tides and Roses

We have it, practically in writing—we’re not going to have a bath for a long time to come. That’s thanks to Joan’s back injury. Whoopie!

Oh, sorry.

I don’t like to see anyone in pain, really. I was just trying to think of the positive aspects of the situation. Besides, it was really Pam who came up with the idea. Pam just had knee surgery, so she is trying to think of affirmative things to say about life and pain. And to help Joan pluck a rose from the thorn bush of life, she said, “Well, at least the dogs won’t have to have another bath for a while.”

Now, on the positive side of the matter for all of us, Joan says it helps to walk, so we’ve be taking slow walks—really slow; I mean a turtle could get around the block three times to our one time. And when I succumb to the old fear-of-noise issue and refuse to walk any farther, Joan hurts too much to pull her leader-of-the-pack-Cesar-Milan maneuver. In fact, she does just the opposite. She pets me and just stands there waiting for my psychological trauma to pass. And, eventually, it does. Sometimes, traumas remind me of the tide. They crash into our lives, do a few back flips, and then, poof, they rush back to the open sea.

Shane is very patient with Joan’s backache and with my trepidation. He just sits and waits. I’m telling you—despite his nervous condition, I think he has Buddha potential.

Best wishes, Juno

In the Thicket of Things

The thicket is behind that huge clump of greenery behind Shane. Shhhh. Don't tell.

There I was in my hiding place, shaded from the insistent summer sun, far from the maddening crowd, sheltered from the noise, the buzz and hum, of life—traffic, lawn mowers, baths. It was all good. I could see the house but the house couldn’t see me. I could watch the goings on about the yard, but the goings on couldn’t watch me. It was my thicket, and I was happy there.

Then, Joan found me. “Juno, you’re all dirty,” she said, sounding disappointed.

So, what’s a little dirt? I’m a dog!

“Oh, Juno, now you need a bath.”

I had a feeling I was due.

“Okay, you stay in the dirt, and I’ll bathe Shane first,” she said, throwing me a figurative bone, for she knows how I relish a good hiding spot.

Of course, it’s not dirt; it’s earth. And as far as staying in it while Shane had his bath, that was fine by me. But, if a bath was indeed in the cards, well, I was going to roll in the earth, eat the earth, paw the earth, become the earth. Earth is purer than shampoo, cooler than air-conditioning, softer than the couch in the living room. So, I rolled around, dug little trenches, and licked the dark stuff that had given me such solace.

Eventually, the joy ended. I sat dutifully for the bath, and then we all walked down the block in the sunlight to dry us off. (Joan was a soggy mess and had a major backache from washing us.)

When we got back, she took bunches of cut vines and mint and soft leaves that smell like peanut butter and laid them over the earthen floor of my thicket. So, I still have my hiding place, but now it has a mint-peanut-butter floor. Hmmmmm. Rather interesting.

Wait! What’s this other smell? Dog shampoo? Oh, that’s me. Not to worry; it won’t last. Everything passes. This smell, too, shall pass, and I’ll be back in the thicket of things.

Best wishes, Juno

Thorny Trails and a Man Who Wants My Baby

Shane After the Fall.
(He's thinking of taking up Latin. Dogus smartus.)

There’s a trail that cuts through a clump of woods near the house. Sounds nice, huh? Well, it could be nice, but the people throw their garbage there. And not just the usual MacDonald’s cheeseburger wrappers or Wendy’s French fry containers or Big Burger's Styrofoam cups—they throw tree limbs and nasty plastic bags filled with things so stinky that they burn my nose. I mean, I like a good strong smell just like any other dog, but this is could make a skunk run for cover.

We used to cut through the trail all the time, only now it’s hard to make it over all the tree branches and rotting putrid things. But, today, we did cut through, because I was just too hot and tired to go all away around Cape Horn at the end of the road. Besides, the trail comes out right across the street from Buddy’s house, and I wanted to see if he was still alive behind the new white plastic fence.

Well, poor Shane tripped and fell into a hole; Joan’s new “Inspi(red)” t-shirt got caught on the thorns and so did her finger. Wow, can her blood drip. I had a little trouble too, but I was walking behind Shane and Joan, so they kind of beat down the path for me.

Then we met a nice man who wanted to know if I could have babies. When Joan told him no, he said that if he couldn’t have my baby, he would like to have a dog just like me. Imagine that!

Shane didn’t feel at all jealous. He was contemplating his embarrassing fall, and he just sat and stared at Joan and panted. Not me; I sat and smiled at the nice man.

Joan told him he could find a nice dog at the animal shelter. And then, just to be sure he wasn’t thinking of tying anyone up for life, she told him New York State was going to pass a law making it a crime to tie a dog up for more than three hours a day. “Hurray,” I thought, quietly thinking about the dogs who live without life.

If it hadn’t been for the heat, the garbage, and the thorns, it would have been a perfect walk.

Best wishes, Juno

P.S. to Owen Johnson (R-4) and Charles Fuschillo (R-8): You are going to pass that law, right?

Seen Around Town

Top: Lily licks her dainty chops on her queenly throne.

Below: Shane and I ponder life on our floorly beds.

Yesterday, Shane and I did the rounds both in the neighborhood and in a great circle surrounding the neighborhood. What a whirlwind of social interaction!

To start the day, which was nothing like the dog days I wrote about last week, Judith came out for a visit. She’s a cat lover, so I wasn’t able to get much enthusiasm out of her. But, she didn’t mind it when we all got in the car together to bring her to Arthur’s house. Well, when we got to Arthur’s, Lily the Terrier jumped on Shane’s face—I think she just wanted to see what he was about. A squabble ensued. One human took Lily off Shane’s face; another human took Shane off her neck. It was all over in five seconds.

Arthur is my man, because, instead of getting all huffy that Shane the intruder had salivated on his dog, he went and got two soup bones from the freezer and gave one to me and one to Shane so we’d have something to do while Joan visited inside.

Joan weakly objected, “But, Arthur, my dogs are vegetarians.”

Arthur smiled and patted her on the head, “Not any more.”

He’s a sensible man for whom I have great respect. Then, we went to David and Gloria’s where we sat on the slate patio and drank water and listened to the humans talking inside. Gloria is in love with Shane. David finally admitted that I’m sweet. They didn’t know that Shane and I were listening to the secretive murmur of their conversation. They think dogs can only comprehend words like sit, dinner, and walk. Ha! Language isn’t the exclusive domain of humans. Humans don’t get that simple fact. But, dogs get it.

When we got home, we took a nap and then went for our evening walk. Joan chatted it up for about an hour with Shellavon, the nice neighbor down the block. Eventually, Shane stopped being nervous and he lay down beside me waiting for the two of them to finish their observations about life. Dogs live life; humans talk about life. It’s a wonder we get along so well.

Best wishes, Juno

August Nights & Talking Trees

August nights can surprise. An August day is like the ruler, the big boss, the head honcho, the bully that turns up the oven from sunrise to sunset just to make you feel all helpless and clammy. But, the night doesn’t always copy the day. Sure, sometimes it can be just as mean, just as uncaring; but, other times, it gets all gentle and even a little apologetic for some of its past behavior. Tonight was one of those nights, so I went outside to bask in its kindness.

I sat for hours under the spell of the night breeze, my belly resting against the spongy carpet of cool grass. Tonight the grass was extra soft because Joan had just mowed it, which left it feeling a little damp and smelling like—well—freshly cut grass. Every time the wind picked up, the trees would wave their leafy arms and whisper secrets to one another; and not even a dog can understand the storytelling of trees, especially the ancient ones. The perfume from the mint patch in the back yard drifted into the front yard and fell asleep right under my nose. Sometimes, the breeze would stop and silence ruled the yard. Then, a car would pass or someone in a distant house would crack open a can of beer or a smile. I could hear it all.

Shane sat at the side of the walk and pretended he was enjoying the peace. But, he kept looking back at Joan, hoping she wouldn’t go inside without him. He’s still dealing with his abandonment issues. Me, I’m secure. It’s in the genes. What can I tell you? I’m a lucky dog. Shane is, too. Sometimes he knows it.