Lambiedog

Something's happening here

There's something happening here.

What it is isn't exactly clear.

Stop, now, what's that sound

Everybody look what's going down.

Anatomy of an interaction

    My interactions with other dogs can be broken down into three parts:

(1)  Approach:

                                  (2)  Involvement (typically brief): 

                                                                            (3)  Withdrawal:

 

 

 

 

 

The knowledge that there will be a Part 3 is what helps me make it through Parts 1 and 2.  

Helicopter brother

          He tends to hover over me, anticipating my needs and smoothing my way.

        
       But we both know that it's high time for me to learn how to deal with obstacles on my own.  

           He's trying to learn to let go.

         

Subjected to scandalous conditions

    The bluff these days is a war zone, filled with sharp prickly pieces of straw, foxtails, and burrs that get stuck in my paws and make walking painful.

Is it any wonder that as soon as I get there I seek shelter on a concrete bench pad?

    The place is an arid wasteland right now.  It's a disgrace that dogs are expected to congregate under such conditions.  I demand sod.  Or possibly personally-fitted booties.

Always the bridesmaid

It was another pleasant evening out at the bluffs.  Many big dogs were present, as well as some smaller ones.

 I thought I was doing a pretty good job of interacting.

 

 But somehow these situations always get away from me.  Once again I ended up watching forlornly as the other dogs cavorted and played without me.

      

Tsunami watch

    Seventy-five people, including the fire department, gathered at the bluff this morning to await the arrival of the tsunami wave generated by Japan's terrible earthquake. 

       

    The expected time came and went but the wave did not appear.  Finally, everyone went home.

Not many jobs for a poodle

   

    One of my favorite books -- Robert the Rose Horse, by Joan Heilbroner -- details the struggles of an unemployed horse.  I often ponder the poignant words of Robert, the protagonist:

Fathers had work.

Mothers had work.

Every one had some kind of work.

But there were not many jobs for a horse.

    Robert's words resonate with me. Options for a fluffy dog, particularly in this economy, are limited.  

    So I was intrigued to read "Pets Help Sell Manhattan Apartments" in the New York Times two weeks ago. The article outlined an opportunity that seems tailor-made for a cute dog such as myself: providing charm, warmth, and character to seduce prospective buyers of properties up for sale.

    I have heard of similar schemes where, for example, college men rent a puppy to serve as a chick-magnet.  But that sort of work seems a bit beneath me.  Here I feel I'd be more directly contributing to the GNP.

     Is it outlandish to expect that the prospect of a dog snoozing on the couch could increase buyer perception of a home's value by 20% or more? 

  

Boundary setting

    A recent New York Times story , although unfairly judgmental of the current generation of canines, has caused me to take a rueful look at my own behavior and how I may be contributing to negative perceptions.  The article's thesis is that while dogs in the olden days were noted for their heroic contributions (think Balto, Lassie, and Rin Tin Tin), the current generation is a smarmy, maladjusted me-generation of dogs whose acclaim comes from misbehaving on reality TV, or from being therapized by Cesar Milan. 

    From a personal standpoint, I feel that I do play an important positive role in both my family and my community.  Not showy or dramatic, but important in terms of recognizing, honoring, and furthering relationships.  On the other hand, the article's disparaging reference to a dog on "It's Me or the Dog" who sticks its tongue up its owner's nostril did touch a nerve, and reminds me that I need to work harder on recognizing appropriate boundaries. 

Giggles in treatment

        Giggles was under stress.  He had a lot on his mind, and needed to process and share.

    I find it often works best to approach tough topics in the course of some other activity.

 So I proposed that we go for a 'frolic' at the end of the bluff.

 
        As we strolled, Giggles laid out his heartache for me, and we worked through it.

      

    By the end of our session, his step was much lighter.  It was as if a weight had been lifted.

Under my nose

I was out and about when I spied a departing rabbit.

I stood there wishing it would come back.

The rabbit had been practically under my nose.

 

 It's so frustrating when you miss the low-hanging fruit.

 I went home and hung my head, reflecting on the difficulties of the hunt.

 
 Then I heard someone at the door.

 It was my friend Shayan.  

Shayan was dismayed to see me so upset. He remonstrated with me to get a grip and remember the many good things in my life.

Slowly, I emerged from my funk. 

    Sometimes it takes a good friend to put things in perspective.