Category Archives: Fang & Claw

A Breakfast of Champions

 

Esme taught Teddy how to fetch this week.

If there were a god, I’d swear to her. So I’ll swear on my father’s writings, as true a thing as ever was.

And in that spirit, I will admit: It was a pseudo-fetch.

I was finishing our Morning Ritual. On vertical days, we stir together. I take my meds, give Teddy his. Then we head to the backyard, where we fetch from the spa. Esme chases the Kong, dad shakes the coma cobwebs and Teddy scratches his ass on the ivy wall (he’s etched divots and ruts and bald spots into it, so it looks like a doomed comb-over). FullSizeRender 2When I call “toy!” Esme brings it to spa’s edge, so I can toss it into the tub for future fetches.

On this morning, though, as I called out, Teddy came to the stairs. With the ball. In his mouth. Sure, I had to wrench it from him his jaws (the concept is still a bit lofty), but this was a miracle on scale with the loaves and the fishes. He must have watched Esme until osmosis created a muscle memory.

I call it muscle memory because I’m hesitant to say he learned anything. Empirically, his IQ still likely hovers around that of a learning-impaired doorknob. Witness what he did during the breakfast that followed.

Because he gets overexcited by the notion of food, Teddy’s epilepsy has worsened around mealtime, forcing me to break routine and feed them outside. Teddy still gets overexcited. But he also exhausts himself in the new routine, which seems to calm him some.

The new routine simply calls for them to dine outside. But when Teddy hears the clatter of bowls, he runs around the house to the dog door, which I close as I fix the food.

Whunk. Teddy’s head regularly, dully thumps the door. Two dozen times, at least, he’s rapped his noggin in attempted entry, like that kid from the Midvale School for the Gifted in The Far Side.

far-side-school-for-gifted

Teddy will study me as I fix the food. If I step from his sight (say, to get the food), he’ll sprint to the back door. When he sees I’m not there, he’ll sprint back to the dog door, which surely must be open now. Whunk. He’s undaunted in his bloodhound-ery, sprinting and panting and whunking while Esme waits patiently by the back door, where the food always arrives.

Theodore Ruxpin Bowles: I THINK HE’S GOING TO GET FOOD!
Esme Beyonce Bowles: Yeah, it’s time for breakfast. Actually, he’s late.
TRB: I HEARD BOWLS!!
EBB: That’s where the food goes.
TRB (voice trailing): I’M GOING AROUND TO THE SIDE, IN CASE HE COMES OUT THE DOG DOOR! SIGNAL IF YOU HEAR ANYTHING!!
EBB: No.
TRB: IT IS!!! IT IS FOOD!! AND I THINK IT’S….DOG FOOD!! HE’S GETTING DOG FOOD!!!
EBB: (sigh)
TRB: WAIT, I DON’T SEE HIM! HE’S GONE! I’M COMING AROUND IN CASE YOU NEED BACKUP!!! ROGER!! ROGER!! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY ROGER BACK!!!
EBB: One night, I will smother you in your sleep.
TRB: IS HE HERE?? WHAT THE…? WHERE DID HE…??? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ROGER BACK?! I’M HEADED BACK AROUND!!! NEXT TIME SAY ROGER!!!
Whunk.
TRB: DON’T PANIC, SIS!! I FOUND HIM!! AND HE SEEMS TO BE MAKING SOMETHING…COMING BACK YOUR WAY!!!! ROGER!!!!

Loaves and fishes.

Dog Dad Afternoon

 

I have cohabited with canines for at least the last 25 years. So, and I mean this literally, I’ve been a dad for more than a quarter century.

But Sunday was the first time I felt Father’s Day.

Perhaps because it was the first without my father. Or maybe I’ve finally teetered into that creepy ‘dog guy’ zip code, which is ‘cat lady’ adjacent.

Regardless, Fortuna blessed me with something Hallmark could never sell, let alone sloganize.

I was in Big Bear, which is so jaw-droppingly beautiful I lack the vocabulary to insult it with a description. Esme was there, too, because Esme finds doggie daycare living as packed as dimples on a raspberry.

As we sat in downtown Big Bear, underneath the dwindling shade of a dwindling tree, two women, perhaps in their 50’s, waddled past, their arms struggling to hoist the bags from trendy mountain-town shops.

Then, I hear one lady say to her shopping pal, “I can’t stand the look of Boston Terriers. French bulldogs are so much prettier.” Said it not to me, but in a loud, nasally squawk to her friend. As if she usually talked over traffic.

I didn’t do the heroic thing. I didn’t get in her face, raise my voice, point a finger or shred her with a quip about how hypocritical it was to critique appearance when you’ve got the figure of a fire hydrant, too (though Esme doesn’t try layer).

Instead, I watched, mouth agape, as they strolled past. Either not realizing I heard them, or not caring. Suddenly, I thought, ‘So that’s why parents beat each other silly at Little League anything.’

Esme, of course, was the maturest of the bunch. She was watching an actual horse, pulling a cart of tourists through downtown.horsie And her feelings didn’t seem nearly as fazed as mine. She’s sleeping now, and doesn’t know I’m writing this. But, on this fading Father’s Day, a message to fashion critics. And that lady:

Take a look at that top picture.

And try to tell me of beauty.

http://youtu.be/PyxLaHmOaYM

Domestic Partnerships and Slobber Love

 

Any pet owners worth their salt believe their domestic partners are god’s gift to the animal kingdom. And that’s only because it’s true.

But while I am full of shit, I fully believe Teddy and Esme are the shit.

It had been too long since I’d seen them Sunday. Ten days, thanks to two road trips that required their boarding. It would be our longest time apart. And it didn’t speed by like dog years.

When it did finally pass, I couldn’t help but marvel — again — at their differences. From color to size to demeanor, they are polar opposites. Even intelligence (let’s just say one may not be, um, MENSA-eligible).

But I also discovered that while they look and behave so differently, they are so alike.

Esme, I think, is the first dog to ever look at me condescendingly. If she has a ball within reach, she will bring it to me, friends, family members, hobos. She’ll set it on the ground and look at me. Then the ball. Then at me. Then…She is saying, ‘Come on, little guy, throw the ball. That’s it. Just throw the ball over there and play fetch. Good huuuuuuuummmmmmaaaaaaannnnn…’

EsmewithBall

When we are driving to the vet (or anywhere involving unpleasantries), she will sit in the front seat and simply stare at me. She is saying ‘I know where you’re going, and what you’re doing. Sonovabitch.’

Teddy speaks a different language. When I awaken and open the bedroom door, he is invariably, inevitably waiting, saying ‘Well good morning! Feel like a drive?! How about a walk to the washer-dryer?! Look, dad, look outside, look! It’s the backyard! Oh. My. God…DOG FOOD BREAKFAST!!!!!’

Even heading to the vet, he seems ridiculously happy with his head out the window, his tongue lolling. ‘Oh boy! A drive! The vet! RECTAL THERMOMETERS!!!!!’

teddyatcounter

esmeforeground

So I watched their reactions at our reunion. Not only was it our longest time apart; Teddy had to be hospitalized for an epileptic seizure the night before boarding. It was their longest time alone.

Esme came out first, with a ‘Where the hell is he, that sonovabitch?’ scowl with which she greets the planet. But when she saw me, she dropped the facade, hopped on the waiting room couch next to me. She pressed against my thigh, trembling slightly, not making a sound in the animal mayhem around her. She simply burrowed into my lap.

She was saying, in a pure, heartfelt, perfect way, “God I missed you. You owe me so much love.”

Next came Teddy. All clatter. Veterinary assistants calling out his name as he walks out, pats goodbye, the scrape of claws as he tries to Fred-Flintone it on the tile floor to get to me.

Fred_Flintstone

And I realize: they say the exact things, just in polar-opposite fashion.

He was saying, equally pure, equally heartfelt, equally perfect: “God I missed you. I owe you so much love.”

We stop for a Coke at the drive-through, a favorite hound haunt. I notice that Esme, for once, wanted to ride in the backseat with Ted. I could have taken umbrage, but how can you deny the beauty of a sister wanting to see her brother?

I smile and look back at the pair, to welcome them home.

Teddy greets me with a slobbering lick that covers the entirety of the right side of my face, from open grin to the lens on my glasses. And here I thought they were so different, when they are simply both sides of love.

Sonovabitch.

Dogsoutwindow