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