Lambiedog

Mein host, Lambie

We had a small gathering the other evening in honor of Cali's owner, Margaret, who is moving away.

I was all nerves before our guests arrived.  I hoped it would be a nice balance of people and dogs.

When they arrived, it turned out that the dog contingent was minimal.  Margaret had left Cali at home. Dolce did attend, but although quite relaxed, she was not at her most lively.

 

Though I was outnumbered species-wise, I circulated among the guests, keeping the social ball rolling and the glasses filled.

I wish I could find it easier to relax in these situations, as Dolce seems to do so effortlessly.

Displaced

    In preparation for having the ladies from the Intergenerational Group over my owner moved my pillows from their usual spot on the sofa, so that I could cede the seating to our guests. Which I did, with an open heart because I welcome visitors.

    But no one thought to put my pillows back after the guests had departed.

    With important neighborhood observation to catch up on, I had to make do with the resources at hand: one measly pillow on the other sofa.  It was uncomfortable and inadequate, but it was all I had.

        After an excruciating delay, my family noticed, and reinstated my pillows.

                            Moments like these make me realize how dependent I am. 

Another point of view

    In the course of my research regarding the memorial bench brouhaha a couple of months ago, I had an opportunity to speak with Manny Glaser, who lives across the street from the bluffs.  Though I knew, and had mentioned in my post about the Berman-Yoshpe bench, that Mr. Glaser is a longtime critic of dog owners who let their dogs go leashless at the bluff in violation of leash laws, until now I had not understood why he feels so strongly.   Talking with him gave me food for thought.

Mr. Glaser's points, as I understand them, follow, along with my evaluation of each one:

1) The bluff is a people park.  It is not a dog park.  Mr. Glaser regrets that the Palisades doesn't have a dog park, but he emphasizes that the bottom line is that the Asilomar bluff is posted as requiring dogs to be on leashes. 

My take:  Mr. Glaser is accurate:  Legally, this is not a dog park.  Although, it is also true that laws sometimes lag behind changing social mores.

2) Mr. Glaser and the neighbors on each side of him, all of whom have dogs, are all frustrated because their own dogs become overexcited and bark constantly as they look out their windows at dogs across the street running wildly.  (Here Mr. Glaser highlights in particular the people who use long ball-launchers to throw balls for their dogs to chase.)  When Mr. Glaser is trying to work or to read, his dog is barking away.  Mr. Glaser believes, as apparently also do his immediate neighbors, that the bluff is being hijacked in a way that frustrates their quiet enjoyment of their lives.

My take:  Even if the dogs on the bluff were on-leash, the dogs looking out the window at them would be barking.  As a sofa-sitter myself, I can attest that one's natural tendency is to bark when one sees a dog go by.  If you live in front of a park, you're going to see a lot of activity.

3) The dogs who populate the bluff can be off-putting, in particular to older people who may be scared to walk there, and to young children.  In particular, Mr. Glaser feels bad that when his Israeli grandchildren come to visit they have been leapt upon by very large dogs.  Mr. Glaser says that in Israel dogs are not routinely kept as pets, so his grandchildren are frightened of these large and unrestrained dogs jumping on them when they go over to play on the bluff or even just to sit on a bench.

My take:  This is a valid concern.  Dog owners who bring their dogs to the bluff need to be more attentive, more sensitive, and more aware that not everyone else is as comfortable with their dogs as they are.  I am thinking in particular of a few dog owners who have the nerve to take umbrage when asked whether or not their dog is friendly.  The burden of proof is on the dog owner here.  And rather than an unfortunately-titled 'one bite at the apple' rule, there should be no tolerance for any 'bites'.  If a dog is possibly unreliable, that dog should not be on the bluff unless tightly leashed and supervised. 

4)  Dog owners do not always pay attention to their dogs, and thus may miss dog defecation which remains on the bluff and is like a minefield to persons such as Mr. Glaser who might want to walk on the bluff at night.  Here Mr. Glaser identifies two categories of culprits:  (a)  People who come with their dogs to the bluff but may be socializing and miss seeing a poop occur; and (b) One particular neighbor, living a block from Mr. Glaser, whose dogs historically have crossed the street to the bluff while that neighbor stayed at home.

My take:  This one is also a valid concern.  The bluff isn't a forest; it's a public park where people like to walk.  Anyone who repeatedly ignores their dog's defecation should not be permitted to return.

So, here we are. Mr. Glaser is certainly within his legal rights to complain, and some of his arguments are compelling.  Is there a way to balance the concerns of the residents whose homes adjoin the bluffs with the desires of everyone else to come to the bluff and enjoy the sunset with their dogs? 

Can dog owners stlll gather to socialize while keeping closer tabs on their pets?  (I know... easy for me to suggest, since I have no desire to wander far from my owner and in an ideal world I would be carried by her at all times.) 

Can the neighbor Mr. Glaser complains about better supervise her dogs? 

Would the Glasers and their neighbors be OK with people gathering more decorously but minus the throwing balls?

Can bluff-goers police themselves better?

Can't we all just get along?

Dicey situation

  I was busy at the bluffs when a determined young man approached me.

 

As he got closer, I desperately semaphored my owner to request an immediate airlift out.

Bathtime

Baths and bubbles always look like fun in the movies, but in real life I have not been able to find the appeal.  

 

Through the peephole

Instead of going out to the curb for my midnight pee, I went rogue and ran up the street to investigate my neighbors' garbage cans. 

When I came home, my family had already closed the front door.

Smoke and mirrors

 I was disheartened to learn that the overweight dog featured in VW's 2012 Superbowl commercial was actually an in-shape dog wearing a fat suit.

    The inspirational story line had resonated with me: 

Fat dog struggles to get through doggie door / Decides to get in shape / Works out/ Achieves athleticism and good health. 

    But apparently it was all a lie. 

    Would the FTC let Jennie Craig photograph trim models for "After" photos, and then encase them in fat suits to obtain the "Before" shots?

Aftermath

    My ordeal of yesterday [see Incident Report for details] did not leave any permanent scars.  However, now that they have passed through their initial relief that I survived, my family has adopted an unpleasantly cynical take on my weight-loss travails.  Each time I start to stroll around the house, they're up checking to see if there's loose food anywhere.  Just because they caught me one time with my head in the cookie jar, they're convinced that it's the manifestation of a larger problem.

    How will I regain their trust?

Anatomy of a traumatic experience

This is the container that my head got stuck in tonight. 

The image below is a schematic simulation.  No actual photos exist of me in the heat of my predicament, because when Thomas found me he thought he'd better not waste any time before rescuing me, given his assessment that I might be running out of oxygen.             Here's how events unfolded:  [This is a re-enactment extrapolated from cellphone records, so times are approximate.]

• 6:07 pm:  My owner departs for the evening, leaving me dinner in my dish.

• 6:12 pm:  Alone at home, I eat my dinner.

• 6:13 pm:  I follow my nose into Thomas' room. On the floor is this canister, lid on, with a few biscotti crumbs still left in it.

• 6:14 pm:  I knock the canister over, causing the lid to become separated.

• 6:14.30 pm:  I put my head inside the canister so I can get to the crumbs.

• 6:15 pm:  I try to pull my head out of the canister, but cannot.

• 6:17 pm:  I panic.

• 6:19 pm:  In attempting to extricate myself from the canister, I work myself into the corner between Thomas' desk and his closet door.

• 6:20 pm to 6:31 pm:  Terror.  I am stuck in a tight corner with my head in a plastic container.  I bang back and forth.  I am disoriented.

• 6:31 pm:  Thomas comes home. 

• 6:32 pm:  Thomas searches for me.  He follows the banging and locates me.

• 6:33 pm:  Thomas extricates me from the canister. 

• 6:34 pm:  Trembling and debilitated, I collapse on the sofa to reflect soberly upon the nightmare from which I've just been delivered.  

Over the river and through the woods, or, A difficult visit

We took a trip to Ojai to visit our relatives.  Below is a picture of me with some of them.

From my perspective, the evening was problematic.

From my hosts' perspective, I was not the easiest guest. 

What threw me was the presence of their puppy, Annie.  Annie did a lot of swiping at me with her paw to try to engage me in play.  Each time that paw came toward me I got nervous and snapped.

It got to the point where, as depicted in the photo at left, I growled when Annie even looked at me.

    Things went downhill from there.  I was not my finest self.

    I began begging to be picked up.  The more anxious I got, the less safe I felt anywhere but in my owner's lap.   

  
I made it through a reading of Peter in Blueberry Land, but when my owner put me down so she could play with the young master of the house, I freaked out.

 It was time to go home.  I was not proud of my performance, but I was relieved that it was over.