Lambiedog

Conspiracy theory

Looking back at my entries here, I realize that the squirrels' retrenchment began not long after the incident of the dead squirrel.  

Maybe someone has been poisoning the squirrels.  That would explain the dead guy I saw.

Problem with this theory:  Shouldn't there then be additional corpses on the bluff or the hillside? Even if they died in their squirrel-tunnels, you'd think there would be an accompanying odor, not to mention more dazed bereavement on the visages of the few squirrels remaining on the hillside.  

Well-stated

There was a terrific piece in yesterday's New York Times by one of the most prominent dogs in America. Read it here . 

Keep close what you love

Confab about the squirrel mystery

Preoccupied as I have been with my bone, I can't completely let the squirrel thing rest. It's hard to let go of something that has been so important to me.  My colleagues at the bluff seem equally bemused by the squirrels' departure.

As Rosie and I were discussing the issue the other day, I took it upon myself to go down the hill to search for clues.

   

After a little while, Rosie came down and nosed around too.  

Comparing notes after a bit, we found that neither of us had had any luck.

                                    

I hope that Rosie has a bone to console her.  Mine has been a great source of solace for me.

The price of celebrity

The Michael Jackson events of the past two weeks have led me to muse about the consequences of being a public figure.  Yes, Mr. Jackson was odd in the extreme, but as a public figure myself I have empathy for him.  

I know what it is like having the paparazzi follow you each time you go out for a walk. 

Just yesterday, for example,  I was out for a pleasant morning walk when the relentless paps caught me in their crosshairs.

My crack security team immediately jumped in front of me to protect my privacy.  

But the damage was done -- my innocent happiness had once again been invaded by these monsters of the press who want more more more of me.

  

I saw an ad for an armed response team.  Maybe that's what I need to protect me from this wild adulation.   It's worth considering.  

The only thing I won't do is take drugs (other than my epilepsy medicine).  If I've learned one thing from Michael's untimely death, it's that I must be vigilant in Just Saying No.

A new maturity

Now that I've been focusing on my bone, I've been shedding my clinginess and neediness.  I find that I've been becoming more of an archetypal masculine self-actualized dog.  Sort of a Robert Bly dog, if you will. Soon I will be involved in drum circles, no doubt.

Bone story

I received a new bone a few days ago, and since then I have been very activated with the task of hiding it. Thank goodness my squirrel work is on the wane, because this bone work is very demanding and occupies most of my waking hours.

Some of my hiding places are indoors, under couches or cushions or bedcovers.  I rotate between them frequently, because you can never be too careful.

My favorite spots, though, are all outdoors, in the back yard or along the fence on the north side of the house.  I carry my bone out nonchalantly, subtly slip off to bury it, and then return casually.  I don't think anyone notices, although it's possible that my dirty nose gives me away.

 

Its not easy doing bone work, dealing with the lack of understanding and appreciation from my family.  Each time I dig my bone up from my outdoor hiding places and bring it, covered with a nice patina of dirt, inside to enjoy on a sofa or a rug, some family member grabs and cleans it off before returning it to me.   Which just emphasizes the importance of keeping it safely hidden.

My little spot of green

The bluff is virtually barren of greenery this summer.  Mostly it's just a lot of hard dirt.  

There is still one sweet spot of grass, however.  I find myself drawn to it again and again.

Mr. Samulon's bench

Who was Henry Adam Samulon? 

From the plaque, we know that he was a beloved family man, who lived 82 years, from 1915 to 1997.  

He was also an accomplished electrical accoustical engineer who worked at TRW, and a Swiss-Jewish refugee who emigrated to the United States in 1947.  More about Mr. Samulon can be found in this biography of his wife, Fay Samulon. 

I never had the pleasure of knowing Henry Samulon in life, but I have enjoyed many inspiring moments in the shadow of his memorial bench.  

Reflections on Independence Day

 

-I am proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free.

-I won't forget the dogs downtown who weren't as lucky as me.

-I gladly stand up next to you and defend her here today.

-'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land, especially the bluffs and my family,

-God bless the U.S.A.!!!