Author Archives: Scott Bowles

Open Letter to a Puppy: Upward Dog


Janesville
My scoundrel,

It occurs to me I rarely write to you solely. Usually jointly, the second name of conjoined existence. Mr. Hardy. Mr. Costello. Mr. Jadie. 

And when you came into this home, your role was as adjunct, as supplement, as ventilation for Jadie’s endless combustion. You were my last attempt at Labradoring.

Now you are helping me to human.

I didn’t realize the lesson initially, which perhaps meant it was to take. You were a hyper, nervous wreck when you got here. Or I was. Sometimes it is hard to tell the difference, so constant are you now.

But then. Then you were a bait pup, a dog race bunny mix of pit and beagle used to train attack dogs. A family had returned you for being too anxious. Now you sleep stretched like a hobo  on Xanax.

You used to fear humans. Now you stand on hinds to lick fingers (we gotta work on that).

You used to hate crates. Now you bound into yours for food and toys.

You used to navigate life. Now you celebrate it. 

Thus, do I. You have seen: I am not fully recovered from the back break. Some days, you must join Jadie and the dog walker, for this body abides its own calendars and alarm clocks, and I hate that they don’t always jibe.

But you do. Everyday, you are there. And I mean tHERE. When I join you kids in the park, you greet me like a teen girl at a Beatles concert.

When I go under hot water, you lay in bed to steal an ear tuck when I dry.

When I do yoga mat stretches, you plant your nose about an inch from where mine dips. Maybe less than an inch; definitely lick-lengthed.

And with each dip, you remind me how a little bad luck can land you on the wrong side of the crate. That timing is everything. That acknowledging the timing — here, at this very second before you reach the period — is everything plus 1.

This isn’t me keeping things whole. More than one physical therapist told me to literally brace for back issues in geezerhood (i.e., Tuesday). The five months since the break haven’t been completely wince-free. And Jadie, you’ll get your futon pad back soon, I promise.

Until then, Chuck, you’re the star, the headliner, the top of the fold. Mr. Abbott. Mr. Laurel. Mr. Charles DeAndre. 

Take a bow, bud. Keep this up, and soon I’ll be able to, too.

Yet It Can Flip A Bird

There are no muscles in the human hand.

One of the most complex parts of human anatomy is also one (or rather two) that we use hundreds of times per day yet often take for granted. Human hands are the body’s multipurpose tools, equipped with 27 individual bones; about half of those are found in our fingers, the tactile appendages that will bend and flex roughly 25 million times over the course of our life span. Our fingers are able to perform the everyday tasks we need thanks to thousands of nerve endings and touch receptors that can sense pressure, texture, temperature, movement, and more. But there’s one thing our hardworking digits don’t have: muscles.

Muscles make it possible for our bodies to move, and the human frame relies on more than 600, which are tasked with helping us in nearly every motion. So how do fingers perform the intricate tasks we require without them? Turns out human fingers are controlled by the muscles in our forearms and the tops and palms of our hands. Small intrinsic muscles in the hand allow the fingers to perform fine motor movements, while extrinsic muscles in the forearm and elbow control how the wrist and hand move. Finger bones (aka phalanges) are connected to these muscles by tendons — fibrous, cord-like connective tissues — and when the attached muscles contract, fingers are able to perform their range of motion. Flexor tendons in the palm help fingers to bend, while extensor tendons on the top of the hand are responsible for straightening the fingers back out — essential movements that allow our hands to touch, grasp, and hold objects.