Man Is Doomed

***Happy Birthday, Poochie (yes, that's her in the pic)! She would be, oh my, 26 today. Webster Groves, MO; 1985***

Ah yes, Poochie and her summer shaves. She hated them. That photo, I'm guessing she was shyly approaching me, kind of crawling on her belly. She'd generally hide for a day or two after she was shaved down. Poochie was two years old in that photo.

Random fact about Poochie: She always laid down to eat, so that one paw and leg was on each side of the bowl. Elizabeth pointed out she'd never seen a dog lay down to eat, other than Poochie. Come to think of it, neither have I. Poochie rocks.

Random facts about my life: It's still winter here, a touch of snow tonight. Barf. I've vowed to sleep like ten hours a night until it gets warm, that is, unless I'm out tearing up the town. Also, I weighed myself tonight for the first time in over a year. I've gained about 3 percent of my bodyweight. I gather two things from that tidbit: One, that irrelevant gain is probably in part to walking less over the past year with a veteran Bernie then no Bernie. Two, um, I forgot . . . maybe I'll remember later.

Random fact about today's title: Man Is Doomed is the name of a band of which I have no opinion, I just like the name.

Random fact about Bernie: For about the first ten years of her life, she wouldn't eat if I wasn't home. This included when I was out of town, though thankfully she would have a few bites here or there. In the alpha structure of the dog pack (or dog/human pack--the human needs to be the alpha, unless you want your dog growling at you, biting you, taking the car without permission, etc.), the alpha eats first. So one way to help establish that the human is the alpha upon newly bringing a canine into your home is to feed it after you've eaten. So, humans sit down and have their meal, put the dishes away and all that, then feed the dog. Dog recognizes this as alpha behavior on your part. I didn't know or do any of this when I brought Bernie home, though it might have been helpful. As it was, we just sorted the alpha status out subconsciously. I won! I mentioned in a previous post, though, that from time to time--almost throughout her entire life--Bernie would jump on my back, front paws on my back and hind on the floor, wherein she was trying to acquire alpha status. That's when I'd pin her down and say, "I am king!" Good times, good times.

Random fact about dogs and food: They can easily go a week without food. Need I say, don't try this at home, though?

Random facts about dogs and water: Dogs can experience health problems if they go without water for as little as 24 hours. Fact two, I once heard from a reputable source that dogs are the only mammals (animals?) that drink the exact amount of water their body needs--no more, no less. An aside to that, however, is that you should (very) temporarily pull up the water of a barrel-chested dog such as a Rottweiler if it is gulping, gulping, gulping water. I can't remember what can happen, but whatever it is it's very serious--like it might cause their stomach to flip, which can be fatal. Finally, I swear, swear, swear that one reason my dogs have lived so long is that I have clean water for them upstairs, downstairs, outside--and I change them all everyday, whether it looks yucky or not. Do it.

Random fact about this blog: I'm not a vet. Anything I say here may or may not work for you or your dog. It all worked for Bernie, though!

I still can't remember the other conclusion I acquired from my weigh-in.

Pretty Ladies, All in a Row

***Bernie, Poochie, Elizabeth circa fall 1994, Lake Tahoe***

I played hockey today for the first time since I turned 40. I'm still faster and better than I was at 20, for sure.

KU is out of the NCAA Tourney. It's okay, they done good this year. Elizabeth is from Connecticut and is a UConn fan. UConn is playing now and everyone should root for them, since they are the Huskies. Get it?

Okay, here are "Ten Favors a Dog Asks of Man," author unknown. I came across this in a newspaper about 15 years ago. It's great, though I offer the caveat that number one is a little over the top. Certainly, take your dog on certain jaunts but don't feel bad about leaving him/her home from time to time! Here goes:

1. My life lasts between 10 and 15 years. Every separation from you means suffering for me. Think about this before you decide whether or not to take me.

2. Give me time to understand what you are asking from me.

3. Instill confidence in me, I thrive on it.

4. Don't be angry with me for a long time, and don't lock me up for punishment. You have your work, your pleasure, our joy. I only have you.

5. Talk often to me. Even if I don't understand you completely, I do understand the tone of your voice when you talk to me.

6. Know that no matter how I am being treated, I shall never forget it.

7. Keep in mind before you hit me that my jaws could crush the knuckles of your hand with ease, but that I don't make use of them.

8. Before scolding me when working with me, consider perhaps I am uncomfortable from digesting my last meal; perhaps I was exposed to the sun too long; or perhaps I have a worn out heart.

9. Take care of me when I am old. You too are born to be old one day.

10. Be with me when my going is rough. Everything is easier for me when you are beside me.

I'll mention that numbers 2, 3, and 5 are absolutely critical and so worth it, especially if you are dealing with a timid or previously abused dog. Also, I gained no greater satisfaction during my life with Bernie than I did during her last couple years, as number 9 references. There is no better love than that from an older dog. Finally, the last ten days or so I spent with Bernie--the time between her Valium experience and her passing--were absolutely priceless to both her and me, and help my mind and heart rest at night. Live number 10 if you are ever faced with that situation--do it for yourself, do it for your dog.

March Madness

***A portion of my room at the University of Kansas during March Madness, 1991***

Alright, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the best sporting event of the year, the NCAA Men's College Basketball Tournament. I spent last weekend sitting on my butt at the Metrodome in Minneapolis, watching four games on Friday and two on Sunday. Most important is that two of those games were wins by KU--Rock Chalk Jayhawk!!! I believe that's the first time I've seen them in person since the 1993 NCAA Tourney, when I saw them in the Sweet 16 in St. Louis--KU beat Indiana and then Cal to advance to the Final Four, where they lost to North Carolina. I watched the Carolina game in my new home in Tahoe. Seventeen months later, I adopted Bernie. The photo above is my room at KU during the 1991 tournament. Each year--at least when KU went on one of its blistering tournament runs--life as we knew it at KU basically ceased to exist. Big-time good times of all kinds with a few classes thrown in the mix. I'm sure now there is a slight more feeling of entitlement at ol' KU now than back then--when we were in a way as surprised as anyone when we'd survive and advance, often with authority!--but on the other hand, KU has certainly taken its lumps in the tourney this decade. Bruised, battered, and scarred but hard (once again I quote Chuck D), we are. And we're still defending champs!!!

Talked about Bernie with a friend tonight, more misty eyes from across the table to surprise me. Her beds are still in place, as are her food bowls. Soon I will plant some flowers in them and move them outside, the bowls that is. Her wet-nose markings are still on the glass back door. I'm not sure of their fate. I won't leave them forever, but I can't really think of a pressing reason to wipe them down. If I'm repeating myself it's only because these are the things I see and think each day still. Bernie's leash hangs by the door, at the ready for a walk. I still need to clean up a few of her the "souvenirs" she left in the backyard. The snow just melted, so I'll get to that soon. No real sentiment with those, though I do know which pile is her last. That's kind of sad. I enjoy a bit more freedom now but still feel a cold splash of water on my face occasionally when I come home and it registers, once again, that she isn't there waiting for me. I don't dwell on it, but it does feel hollow here in this house. I remember when I was a kid returning from a vacation where I'd stayed in a room with someone to sleeping in a room alone again, how it felt like the end of something. When your best buddy of 15 years disappears, you keep her here as well as you can. But it's the end that wins your mind.

Mellow Gold

Mellow Gold, I have no idea why I put that as the headline, though it is the name of a Beck album. I am, though, pretty mellow about Bernie and all things Chad. I saw my immediate neighbor yesterday, across the fence. I've seen her over the winter, usually shoveling snow, but her three-year-old daughter, Carly, was with her, so that precluded any conversation about you know who. So yesterday, mom asked, "Is Bernie gone?" You see, Carly kind of stalks me from her window. It looks out over my backyard, and she pretty much has a 24/7 watch on Chad, particularly in the summer when I'm outside more. So for sure, at some point Carly noticed that Bernie wasn't around. I told Mom about Bernie's new home, she was sad--it sometimes amazes me how genuinelly sad some people with no real vested interest become over this--and then said, "We've had many, many discussions the past couple months in our home about where Bernie is." I took this to mean that Carly was versed in the subject of death at some point during these conversations. As I mentioned in a previous post, Carly used to give Bernie treats through the fence. Initially, I'd have to coax Bernie over to her, but eventually, Bernie would walk over to her anytime she was standing at the fence. It was cute on both Carly and Bernie's part.

Then today I saw another neighbor who owns a crazy Poodle-looking dog, though I don't think it's a Poodle. It just looks like a big Poodle, Shadow is it's name. Shadow is a couple years old now, and I started talking to Shadow's human mom and came at Shadow to give him a vigorous greeting, and Shadow freaked out--humorously, not violently. He lurched here and there, finally banging into my fence. I thought it was hilarious! Then I pet him while I told mom about Bernie. Shadow is good, he told me to say hello to Bernie and her blog's faithful followers.

Dogs, you gotta love 'em.

Hockey and Dogs Part Deux

***At my grandma's farm in Lamar, Missouri; June 2003***

I know this isn't a hockey column, but congrats to Marty Brodeur of the New Jersey Devils, who became the NHL's all-time winningest goaltender in NHL history--and he's still going strong. He's my favorite ever, so much so that at a Wild game a couple years ago, I raced from my upper-level seats to the lower level so I could watch him up close in a shootout. He was brilliant, as always. I vividly remember my first exposure to him, in the 1994 conference finals vs. the NY Rangers. He stood on his head and quickly perched himself atop my favorite goaltenders list, which is saying something being that I have a lifelong hockey goaltending fetish. Those 1994 playoffs ended three months before I adopted Bernie.

I grilled a t-bone steak tonight after a bike ride. It is nothing short of tragic to have to put a beautiful beef bone in the trash, not handing it to my puppy. She'd make quick work of them, eating them entirely within two or three minutes. She was a good dog, I dreamed about her last night. My dreams are normal, just doing the things Bernie and I did. I guess it's my mind's way of subconsciously maintaining her presence. I'll center a post soon on Bernie and bikes, along with her magic ears.

As I mentioned once, Bernie, Poochie, and I got shot at back in the day. Yesterday, I visited one of my fifth grade students in the hospital who was shot. He is okay, and you can read about the incident here.

Happy St. Patrick's Day. I drank a Guinness, it was good! Go to Ireland someday if you've never been--or even if you have been.

Good Times

***It's ironic that the for the last day or two it was in my head to write about hockey/dogs in my next post, then I come across this--the only comic I read regularly--today in yesterday's paper***

It's been a good week. The weather has warmed up (60 today), the sun is shining. I've spent my time editing, playing hockey, walking and running outside. Sports-wise, we're at the base of an annual crescendo. In this part, this weekend featured the Minnesota State Hockey tournament, which is likely the best of its kind in the country and one of the finest high school tournaments of any type within the good ol' USA. The bond between hockey player and sport is not unlike that of human and canine, each occupying an everlasting presence in ones soul. Trust me, I'm accutely familiar with both. Hockey players stick together, sharing not only the fascinating ability to do what hockey players do on the ice but also a kindred connection with teammates and foes alike. Put it this way: I could name off every hockey teammate I ever had, but only a handful of baseball teammates. Safe to say I'd do about anything for a hockey brother and vice versa.

As you can see by today's "picture" accompanying this post, dogs love hockey. Bernie loves hockey. Bernie and I love Marmaduke.

While reading this week about the high school tourney, I came across a story that somehow I'd missed over the course of this season. It's about a junior hockey player at Hill-Murray High School, which is a bit of a hockey powerhouse here, which is saying something. This kid started high school at Shattuck-St. Mary's Prep, which is THE hockey powerhouse of Minnesota and has run through such great players as Sidney Crosby and Zach Parise, to name two. In other words, this kid, Duke Peiper, had a bright hockey future. I encourage you to read his story then proceed to his Caring Bridge site. Hockey players are tough and never give up, and Duke's story will inspire you to enjoy beautiful sunshine that much more.

Thoughts

***Poochie and Bernie, not long after I adopted Bernie; Lake Tahoe, 1994***

Fabulous ER tonight, I think there are only two left . . . forever. Noah Wyle (Dr. John Carter) rejoined the cast for the last six episodes. Tonight, Eriq LaSalle (Dr. Peter Benton), Juliana Marguiles (Nurse Carol Hathaway), and everyone's favorite, George Clooney (Dr. Doug Ross) walked the set. No surprise that there were some excellent surgical shots and a dazzling score, to boot.

I dined with my mother this evening, told her that I don't like living without a dog. I don't, but I'll do it for a while. A big furry mass of character is gone from my life. To continue with the remembrance mood, here's a list of all the times I think of buddy Bernie each day:

• When I wake up in the morning. I always said "Hi Bernie" promptly.
• When I come back upstairs after my shower. Her last couple years, I'd have to rouse the little puppy, though only with a tap on her butt.
• When I go back downstairs in the morning. I'd let her out, feed and water her.
• All through my quick breakfast. I'd let her in, out, in, out--Bernie could never make up her mind.
• When I leave. The last year or so, I walked her for five minutes before I left.
• When I leave. "Bye, Bernie. You be good. I'll be back."
• A few random times during my workday, particularly when I feel like crawling under a rock for one reason or another.
• Everytime I eat. I always saved my last bite for Bernie.
• When I'm about to go home from work. "I get to see Bernie now!"
• When I get home. Formerly, she'd dash along the fence to greet me and my car. Later, her pretty lil head would be peering out the door.
• All through the evening. Walk time! And I miss the many pats and pets, and simply watching her do her thing.
• When I go up to bed. It's too easy now, I just get up and go. "Come on, Bernie!"
• Upstairs. Bones, two bones every night. She was a good catch till the end. Sharp eyes she had, brilliant.
• Bedtime. I dedicated a couple minutes each night to pet her and love her.
• Lights out. "Goodnight Bernie, goodnight Poochie."
• Anytime I wake up in the night. I'd always say something to her, often pet her.
• I've dreamed about her every night for the past week or so.

Fire!!!

***Gardnervile, NV; June 1996***

No doubt Bernie and Poocie were at my side when I took this photo of the Autumn Hills fire at the foothills of the Carson Valley. Two teenagers were pouring gasoline on lizards and lighting them on fire. Guess what? The lizards ran while aflame! Oops, bet they never thought of that. If I remember correctly, the two teens were levied a six-figure financial penalty for their doings. To read an ironic twist (as if the lizards aren't enough) about this fire, click here.

So what does this have to do with Bernie, besides the fact we had to breathe smoke for days? Well, Bernie used to chase lizards. Rather, she would pounce after them. They're pretty small, about the size of an extended finger, and while we were in the mountains, she'd walk up to boulders, lizards would run, and she would pounce and bounce like a kitty cat after them. Occasionally, she'd get one under her paw, but they always managed to squirt away before she could gnaw on them. Similarly, while in Sacramento we had easy access to a "park", which in essence was a big ol' plot of untouched land. It was pretty cool, just dirt and tall grass and a creek and cute soccer moms and HUGE jackrabbits that would scare the living you know what out of you when they sprang from their cover in the tall grass! The first time that happened, I thought it was a kangaroo. Seriously. Anyway, the similarly part is that there were these bush/tree things that were just a tangled mess of branches that came up from the earth and wrapped back down to the ground. So like a dome of sorts, only dense tangles of branches. So yeah, the similarly part was that Bernie would chase these little ground squirrels, faster than lightning they are, and they'd inevitably scramble under these bush/trees. They made this chirping sound, and Bernie quickly figured out that the chirp meant ground squirrel, and the ground squirrels hung out in the bush/trees. So she spent a lot of time jumping in those bush/trees, getting stuck in them, but I wouldn't help because those trees screamed, "Mr. Man, don't mess with me." I'd get so frustrated at Bernie's compulsion, I'd be like, "Bernie, come onnnnnnnn," but she'd just pounce after those little suckers on and on and on. More than once I left her there, which was stupid, because to get home Bernie had to cross a busy street. But she always made it safely, often she was waiting at the apartment steps for me when I got home. I never figured out how she managed that.

So there you have it, Bernie chased lizards like the ones that started the fire, and she carried over that cat-like prowess to the flatlands of Sacramento to hunt the ground squirrels.

The end.

Hipper and Deffer

***Have I posted this photo yet? In her favorite watering hole. Lake Tahoe, 1998***

Could this blog be any cooler? Now you can listen to 89.3 The Current while you read Bernie's Blog--unless I forget to drop the code into a particular post. For those of you not from here, if you like good music--and by that I mean indie, emerging artists and the like--you should point your browser to here, well, all the time, 'cause great music happens there.

If you're doubting me re: The Current's coolness, know that Bernie always listened to it--it's on in my kitchen24/7. On the rare occasions the radio was silent, she'd turn to me and say, "Yo. Um, turn it to that station." Peace.

More Dog Days of Winter

***Walkin' . . . walkin' walkin' walkin'. Pleasant Lake in the background. North Oaks, November 2008***

I'm going to use a very powerful, bad word in the next sentence, so close your eyes if you don't want to read it. I HATE March in Minnesota. Yep, the month that was my favorite for 32 years I now wish would die. This is what March means to me:

Balmy
Birds
Blooms
Birthday
Bernie

In this state, historically I've only had two of five of these March attributes. Now I only have one. Never visit Minnesota in March. It was like 40 degrees today, and everyone talks of how warm it is. Sadly, they are correct. March madness takes on a whole new meaning in this misery. I feel like sucks, to quote Crazy Victor Konkidee (no one who reads this knows who he is, and I know I didn't spell his name right). Oh, Victor.

It's a good time of year to have a dog. Dogs drag your butt out of the house, get you moving even on the crappiest of days, of which most days in March here are. I still walk, starting my car sometimes makes me feel guilty, but my walking adventures have been cut 90 percent since Bernie bid farewell. The good news is now I have time to do things like, um, blog.

Tomorrow I'm going to call the humane society to see if they want some (packaged) food stuffs of Bernie's I still have. Oh, one really solid piece of advice I have for dog owners is to give your dog Omega 3 each day, though I'd wait till doggie is at least one year old. I wish I had done so for Bernie longer than the last few months of her life, but my next pup will down that stuff like pork shoulder. Just make sure you don't give a full helping ("dose" works better, but omega is not a drug) of omega oil right away, or you'll be cleaning the, um, oil off the floor. Here's a link, right here. If anyone local wants a bunch free, let me know, I'm your pusher.

Here's to April, only 25 days away.

Bedtime

***Near our favorite spot in Tahoe, 1998***

My whole point of posting while at the Web Challenge the other day was to say I was internally "pinged" numerous times to go home and check on Bernie while I was there. It's a subconscious relfex, I guess. I don't think that type of stuff will go away until the day comes when I have another dog, then of course the "ping" will be for that dog.

I haven't adjusted my lifestyle too much, for better and worse. There are all of these fabulous things I was planning on doing once dear Bernie departed. I've added some things, but there's lots more to come. It's a process, not only to adjust to not having a dog to care for but also simply to figure out which directions I want to go with things. I have some ideas but have decided to primarily let them trickle to fruition, for now. I'm good at pulling off radical change, but for now I'm letting my evolution creep. Who knows, someday I may be writing this blog while sitting under a palm tree in my backyard.

So the following Radiohead vid, "House of Cards", is for my cousin Kelli and Mike. It's the Scotch Mist Version. Check it:

Website, Anyone?

***I vaguely remember a puppy when I lived at 3469 Norma in S. Lake Tahoe, but I don't remember why. It wasn't under my watch, rather Sandy's, whom I rented my patio apartment from. Anyway, click the pic to blow it up, and check out Bernie's leery face***

It is 840am Central Standard Time; Sunday, March 1. I have been in this room since 800a on Saturday, February 28. There is a big clock projected on a huge screen in front of me, counting down. It is now at 18 mintues and 20 seconds. The clock started at 24 hours. 

ACES, the nonprofit I work for, along with 11 other nonprofits, was selected to receive a new website courtesy of technology geeks metro wide. Each nonprofit was assigned a team of about one dozen web developers and the like. The kicker is, the tech teams had 24 hours to build their nonprofit a new website. There was no prior collaboration between techies and their nonprofit. In fact, the two were not matched up until the clock began ticking, now 23 hours, 45 minutes ago. For the dozen tech groups, this is an official competition.

Our site rocks, though it needs to be de-bugged and styled, so it will be a week or two before it is actually live and in stereo. I will post the link here when it is good to go, so come back. In the meantime, for being such a faithful reader, I have embedded the following video, which was shot Saturday morning and will appear on the website when it goes live. Check it out, yo: