Power & the Ice-Cream Man

Who has powers?

Oh, the power of the ice-cream man and his singing van filled to the ceiling with sugary treats for all the kids big and small—although nothing for dogs; nothing at all.

When the ice-cream man tootles down the street—which he does at least three times a day— the people run from their homes waving dollar bills at him, begging him to stop. “Stop! Please stop!” they cry. And he always does. The people buy even if they can’t afford to buy, and they eat even if they’re not hungry. That’s the power of the ice-cream man.

Usually people are afraid when Shane sits in the yard and barks. Mothers and fathers grab their children’s hands and dash past the house. But, not when the ice-cream man is parked outside the gate. Oh, no. Then, all they can think of is the icy treat that’s about to play on their tongues and slide down their throats. And suddenly no one is afraid of Shane. Go ahead let him bark, maybe even let him bite—just as long as we get our wrapped treat.

I wish I had the power of the ice-cream man. “What would you do with that power?” asks Joan. Naturally, I can’t explain. But, I’m surprised that she knows what I’m thinking.

Best wishes, Juno

Canine Encounter for the First Time

Would you be scared if you saw three dogs walking toward you in the woods?

The trees are all of a sudden just as they were a year ago—green and lush under white clouds. The azaleas are just beginning to peek out, and pretty soon Joan will begin taking our portraits in front of them, you know, for the flowery background effect.

The trail through the woods at the park is attracting more people every day, so we try to go there when other people don’t. But yesterday, Shane and I were walking along with Joan, Kyla, and Saki when a man and woman appeared on the trail coming toward us. I guess we looked scary because the woman almost jumped into the woods clutching the man’s arm and saying things like, “Oh, mercy. Look at those dogs” The man looked anxious, but he tried to smile bravely. With a shaky voice, he asked Joan if we dogs were “Okay.”

“Oh, come on, look how sweet they are,” said Joan. And she told the man to give me a nice hello. I sat down right in front of him, and he sort of waved at me. Even though the woman kept saying, “Oh, my,” I focused on the man and gave him my softest look fortified by an expectant dog smile. Then, at last, he touched my forehead and said, “Hello, nice dog,”

“See that?” Joan remarked. “There’s not a mean bone in her body.”

The lady sort of laughed, but she still held on to the man. But, I could see that the man was pleased, and he told us to have a nice day. I hope their encounter with me helped them arrive at a new awareness about life and adventure and taking a risk now and then. Sometimes, all you have to do is say hello and your life is suddenly on the upswing.

Best wishes, Juno

Happy Birthday, Will Shakespeare

Of course, we all know that it’s Shakespeare’s birthday. No, not that cat who used to sleep in the bookstore window; the real guy. So, we stopped along the path at the edge of the baseball field to consider things like the passage of time and how Shakespeare is more important than, say, a rock star, even though lots of people would have trouble believing that. I don’t, though.

Oh, and I’ve decided to forgive Shakespeare for never having written a play about dogs. He probably figured no one would come to see it. I guess he never heard of Lassie or Rin Tin Tin or Old Yeller (wow, that was so sad at the end).

Now, to Shane: Yikes! People think he wears a muzzle. But it’s not a muzzle; it’s a Halty. When we go to the lake, he really needs to wear a Halty plus an extra leash because he can get very agitated at, well, nothing in particular—a squirrel, another dog, the rustling of dry leaves.

The Halty is like braces for the whole face; that is, it’s supposed to be a training device, but Shane’s training has gone on for eight years or so. In other words, Shane is always and will always be in training mode. So be it. Joan keeps saying, “An ounce of prevention is worth …” and then she forgets the rest.” Did Shakespeare say that one, too? Nah; it sounds too Ben Franklinish.

Best wishes, Juno

Hyper Puppies

Puppies: they just don't listen.

After a week of listening to Joan cough, we finally saw some action today when Ish came over to play with Saki. Around and around they ran in big circles and small circles, play biting, panting, drinking water, panting some more, running all the way around the house maybe a hundred times.

I tried to calm them down, but nothing could dissuade them from acting like overgrown puppies. Shane couldn’t handle any of it and stayed in the house nurturing his nervous condition. Frankly, all three dogs are too hyper for my taste. They should be a little more like me—you know—subdued in their youthful exuberance.

I guess everyone has a different idea of a fun afternoon. For Ish and Saki, it’s all about the running; for Shane, it’s all about getting into conflict that's clearly way over his head; for me—well—I just like to watch the action from a distance. It’s the philosopher in me.

Best wishes on this warm spring day, Juno

Saki Attack

Attack of the Saki & A walk in the woods (see Saki up ahead waiting to pounce?)

Saki and Shane need people close to them, you know, not just within sight and earshot, but deep within their personal space. I like to know there’s someone nearby, but I don’t have to be pawing at their shadow twenty-four hours a day.

Saki is here for the weekend and has taken to attacking Shane. Not bad attack—puppy attack with play biting, play gnashing of the teeth, and serious romping. In the old days—about a month or two ago—Shane would have gotten mad; now, I think he actually looks forward to a little romping on the rug. Dare I say it? Saki is good medicine for Shane.

The two of them follow Joan around the house and yard—Shane very slowly, Saki hopping up, down biting at Shane’s neck and legs, and running in tiny hot circles around him. He knows I have my limitations, so he doesn’t bother trying to play with me. With me, he just runs in circles—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—around me. I ignore him. That’s where the real power is.
Right now, they’re both sleeping, and I have my peace. Shhhhhhh.

Best wishes, Juno

Suddenly Green

Summer's leaves wilt on the doorsill of the swelling spring.

Spring came and went all in a day. Everyone says it will be back. Shane and I must have walked a hundred, or maybe six, miles in the past two days, not that I’m complaining or anything. The exercise will do us good what with bikini season just around the corner. At least, that’s what Joan offers as encouragement.

Spring always seems to arrive in a single explosion of green. But, that’s just an illusion. Today, we stopped in the woods to look at the baby buds on the trees; they were all curled up and squashed in soft-bark shells, looking for all the world as though they were hiding from prying eyes. Of course, what they’re really doing is uncoiling very very slowly, so when they suddenly burst forth, the entire cosmos will gaze, awestruck and speechless, at their green beauty. Yes, presentation is everything.

Best wishes, Juno

POV & Dog Hugging

I’m used to my vantage point, and from this place on the floor where I sniff out things no human can detect, the world is somewhere up—that is, except for the noises, which are everywhere and vibrate through the floors and even make the curtains flutter ever so imperceptibly. Shane looks so—well—macro-close; and then when he looks at me, I seem so far away.

Then, I look at Joan hugging Saki, and before I can think, "Hey, what's she doing hugging another dog?" I remind myself that life is all about perspective, vantage points, and relativity.

Best wishes, Juno

Bridge to the Long Cut

Once we pass over the bridge, there’s a choice to be made—the long cut or the short cut. I prefer the short cut, of course; Joan and Shane prefer the long cut. So, I stop on this bridge and hang my head hoping to convince everyone to cut over to the lake where it’s already a long enough walk to the parking lot. On occasion, I get my way.

But, life isn’t always about getting one’s way, and that’s not a bad thing, because every time we take the long cut—which adds maybe another mile to the walk—I forget all about being tired. Wow. So many squirrels, so many strange sounds coming from the trees—creaks and groans and whooshing sounds that we don’t always hear in real life, you know, because of all the cars and people calls.

It’s quite the trip back to the nineteenth or eighteenth century. No donkey carts, though. And no robbers trying to take from the rich to give to the poor. And no inns along the way. But, it sure is peaceful because the only reminder that we’re in the 21st century is the occasional jogger in Spandex.

Best wishes, Juno

Mud & a Wink

Saki and Kyla Watching Ducks & Geese

By the time Joan came home from work, the rain had stopped, and we were all eager to get to the lake. Alas, there was mud up to my ankles. Wait! Do I have ankles? But, you get the idea—the trails were muddy and studded with pools of brownish rainwater.

So, instead of walking through the woods, we walked across the ball fields, where dogs are prohibited; and then we cut through the picnic areas, where dogs are also prohibited; and then we walked across another field—yup—no dogs allowed there either. But, hey, hardly anyone was in the park. Just a few people and certainly no dogs.

A police officer cruised by in his car, but he just smiled and gave me a wink. I’m sure he realized I couldn’t read those signs that read, "No Dogs Allowed."

Best wishes, Juno
PS: Happy Birthday, Kyla