Tag Archives: Teddy

El Amor Es Una Perra 











Bad dog. 





In the literal and metaphorical sense, J.D. is being a little bitch. She’s chewed through a tried-and-true pair of sandals that cradled my feet like Jesus. She will not see the benefits of outdoor plumbing. And now she’s leapt up, nipping my right index finger and drawing blood.





As an added curtsy, she’s barking her head off in an ever-deepening-yet-still-shrill voice for reasons I can’t dechipher. Maybe she’s bored. Maybe shes tired. Maybe she sees what a fraud of a parent I am.





I used to fancy myself adroit at dog raising. I’ve lived with them all my life, and still retain shards of dog training tips that seem to work.





Or used to. Clearly, I am not the Obi Wan to dogs that Teddy was. He raised the smartest animal I ever saw, Esme. He potty trained her, taught her to sit, even showed her how to fetch, even though he did not know how.





Archives for January 2018 | The HollywoodBowles
Feel the fuzzy Force, Esme.





I could use his advice now. Or at least his thick fur, which he was happy to let Esme chew on during her teething phase.





So I let his advice flow over me. Let her bark; she’s learning her first words. Let her chew; she doesn’t yet know the loving nibble. Let her be; she just turned 3 months old (!) today.





And he reminds me from the cloud circuit that I am the one who needs training, not her. Enjoy the newness of the life she brings, he tells me in every photo of the duo I see: One day soon, those hairs will gray, those nips will become naps, and I will remember how, as a puppy, she would sit at the foot of my shower, waiting for me to finish. How, when she’s tired, she preferred to slumber in my lap. How, when I take too long to bathe (which is all the time), she would  drag my sweatpants into the living room and sleep on them.










How, when I sit to write at the computer, she curled at my feet, unwilling and uninterested in curling anywhere else.





Like now.





Good dog.














			            

		

		
		
	
    

				

									

				What I Miss
			

								


				

			

Crow | The HollywoodBowles





The only failing of dogs is that they don’t outlive us.





That’s become acutely clear over the past day. There’s a ringing in my ears, as if a flash bang went off in the house. I know it’s the tinnitus of absence. But there’s a larger void.





For the first time in my adult life, I’m without a canine companion. And that’s only because I count my college days as adulthood. Esme’s northern passage also marked the end of a duo — Teddy & Esme — the first buddy-cop movie to ever play out before me in my 8 dog years.





While my parents were never animal nuts, my sister and I are, particularly for wolf cousins. Caroline and I are of one mind on this: Cruelty to animals should be punished twice as severely as cruelty to humans. At least humans have therapy.










I guess that would have made Ezzie a therapy dog, because god knows she was an emotional salve. While Teddy was easily the alpha dog — from his size to his cartoonish personality — Esme set the rhythm of every day I’ve spent in this house since we moved here in 2009. 





If I were lost in a column here in the office, Ezzie would stroll back to remind me: It’s dinnertime, dummy. Fetchtime, too. Oh, and bring a baggie; I left something warm for you in the backyard.





A Breakfast of Champions | The HollywoodBowles





Without a word, she was the crossing guard. She taught me: close doors; latch the gate, pick up your shit, check your suit for fur so you don’t look a corporate tool for Big Dander. 





So it goes with all furred family members, it seems. What miracles! that meeting of the mind across species. That we would evolve to have the same endgame in mind: a safe, loving home that stands until the carousel stops. A home so intricate-yet-synchronous we could only hope for such symbiosis with  homo sapiens.





And let’s bow back to our furred roommates for a moment. No matter your shortcomings, real or imagined, no matter your demons, manifest or  budding, No. Matter. What. You are a rock star, they tell us. You hang the moon every night.





There’s something about that surreal bond  that sets off meth-level dopamine hits in my brain. Maybe that’s what I’m jonesing. The problem with losing a love is that you can picture what you remember, but cannot see what you really miss: that aura of presence.





And I realize, here in the office, where nothing reminds me of the setting sun except memory and a wristwatch, that the question really isn’t a question at all: Another hound will roam these grounds someday. 





Maybe two.





Archives for November 2014 | The HollywoodBowles - Page 2













 

			            

		

		
		
	
    

				

									

				Triangulation
			

								


				

			

Teddy And Esme | The HollywoodBowles - Page 2





Esme’s right front leg gave out last week. A day later, so did the rest of her body.





It seemed sudden, but it wasn’t. Our fetch-runs turned into fetch-walks — so comically deliberate I created a movie trailer entitled The Grudge Fetch. 





Now, she is a tripod. Getting in and out of the dog door is a one-minute geometric exercise. She no longer hops on the bed. Or gets in the car. Or gazes out the front window curtained specifically for her. Now, about the only reason she moves is when she smells food. 





But that, too, is waning.





I had the “quality of life talk” with the vet. But how do you gauge a dog’s happiness? They are the model of optimism. Teddy was run over by a car as a puppy and suffered a compound fracture. After a horrifying yelp, he sat there, grinning, leg pointed the wrong way, as I frantically got dressed to get him to a hospital.





So it is with Esme. With the exception of a whimper on that tender foot, she’s lodged nary a complaint. Just snores away in a cat bed she has made her own.





My father saddened himself to death. While his death certificate cites heart failure at 84, the truth is he outlived his family, his friends, his reason for living. He hardly owns that patent, I know, but I consider myself fortunate to hold no claim to its inheritance.





And I think Ezzie is with me. There are all sorts of reasons. This morning, as I grogged awake in the jacuzzi, I heard a scrape, jingle, and soft thud against the tub. Esme had hobbled her way up the wooden steps to lay in the sun at my side.





I rubbed her belly from the tub until I pruned. Then I stepped over her and carried her onto the couch, where I write this piece.





Sometimes, just wanting it is enough.