No Title

***A less than one-year Bernie, in what is likely the earliest photo I have of her. Lake Tahoe, 1994***

"And this is my brain

Its torturous and analytical thoughts

Make me go insane"

Kate Nash, "Mouthwash"

I think we all worry when someone close to us passes that we may not be mourning enough, whether that comes in the form of guilt for simply continuing on with your life--which you must do--or via some other creepy idea that crawls into your mind. When Bernie died, clearly, I was sad, there was no question about that. To a much, much lesser degree, there was a since of relief--not as in, phew, don't have to deal with her anymore but as in, there was a tangible removal of a lot of responsibility and commitment from my shoulders. As far as veteran dogs go, she was easy, with no real physical limitations to place near-unreasonable duties upon me, which can often be the case with senior dogs. I had to do a mental dance, however, in the sense that I had a dog whose life was winding down and to whom I was deeply committed, and her to me. It can be very, very difficult to walk out the door to go goof off for a few hours while your best buddy who won't be around a year, maybe two from now stays behind, hoping that every sound is you coming home. I danced this step for the last couple years. It wasn't a feeling of guilt when I'd leave, it was a feeling of, man, this is time I don't get to spend with my favorite creature of Earth, time that will be but a memory in the near future. It was about a year ago now that I noticed changes in Bernie, changes that led to her diagnosis nine months ago. In a way, that compounded my agony of having to leave her behind, in another way it clairified when perhaps the end might come. Before her diagnosis, I had somewhat a freak of nature larger dog, in that even though 14, you could easily see another couple "productive" years from her. Her diagnosis allowed me to comfortably put other things in my life on hold, knowing that in the not so distant future, there would be a lot of time for everything else.

So she was gone, and Chad was sad. A morsel of my being was glad, glad that she had lived a 15-year life that only the luckiest of dogs get to live, one that was full of pleasure and very, very little pain. A hard fact, though, is that while a ton of Chad's life had trotted away to Puppy Heaven, a massive amount of time and possibilities beckoned. So you dive in as best you can, joining you for the ride feelings that you are embracing your life-after with too much vigor. The tsunami of reality that a big albeit pleasant responsibility has vanished injects a different type of spirit within, and you feel this, and you exhale fully. Then you feel it. Guilt. So you slow down, let yourself consciously and subconsciously process everything, trusting yourself, your mind and soul. Know that you mourn, you miss.

I'm one week away from four months since Bernie died. My life after is unfolding, and it's good. My fears of not mourning enough or losing memories or not being able to illicit the feelings that Bernie made percolate inside me unfounded. I think about her often, almost constantly when I'm home. I lay down to sleep, and I think of her as I say goodnight. To one part of my brain's dismay another part of it always, every night, drifts to her last day, the sad things, and I shoo those thoughts away, self-repression. I wish you were here, I tell her, then I channel my thoughts to other things. Then, most nights, I dream of her. Nice dreams, just her and I together.

I'm happy that I still mourn, still miss her, still want to pet her, feed her, smell her, hear her, laugh with her. Even though it isn't all perfectly pleasant, I like where I am right now. I'm happy that Bernie is still a big part of my life.

Big Fat Hole

***What a beautiful dog. January 7, 2009***

The bright side: It's sunny today, and I saw a yellow lab little puppy yesterday and a black lab little puppy today. Nuff said.

The rest: Just as you thought the world was as far in the toilet as it can go, perhaps even emerging from its human-created doldrums a bit, further down we go. Dark, freezing winter that still hasn't fully gone away; a repressive albeit ousted regime whose actions we're still punished by and will continue to be for the foreseeable future; an economy mutilated primarily by America's Greedy Capitalism model (which differs from capitalism in and of itself), and with that good folks' jobs vanishing; Bernie passing; and now, the swine flu.

Swine flu???

What more to say than, EVERYTHING'S FINE!!!!

Thank you, Tracy Bonham. Check it:

Life

Begin

Swirling

still

Begin

Free of form

always

Begin

Breezes

to gusts

Begin

Amoeba

me

Begin

again

Begin

Bernie's Magic Ears (Part 2)

***Good doggies! Bernie and Poochie waiting patiently (for a treat???) at the kitchen door. Lake Tahoe; January, 1995***

If you haven't read "Bernie's Magic Ears (Part 1), posted on April 19, it sort of sets the stage for this one. However, I'm sure your acute reading comprehension skills afford you the tools necessary to figure this one out solo, yo.

So Poochie was gone, and for the next two years it was Bernie and I living in the patio apartment of Sandy's house, her two dogs keeping Bernie comfortable and active at times. I have fond memories of these days in regard to my relationship with Bernie, not so much because of what we did--biking in the Sierra Nevadas, goofing around in tons of Tahoe snow (it once snowed six feet in 24 hours), play fighting with Sandy's dogs--but more so because after Poochie left, it was Bernie and Chad's time to jive and bond. And jive and bond we did. Poochie had a stroke one night after I'd come home from work, about 4am, and by sunrise that morning she was gone, put to sleep. I was 28 years old, and I'd never had to make such a decision before. I felt like god, in an incredibly uncomfortable way. I remember laying in bed that morning completely mesmerized. I tried to tease my brain into resting upon, "Well, I have Bernie yet," but that thought was always quickly followed by, "Yeah, great. She's not Poochie."

Fast-forwarding for a sec to the twelve years forth, this is why you don't piss and moan and dwell on the inevitable "bad" things that surely happen in everyone's life. Mourning is okay, thinking everything sucks and always will hereafter is not okay. There are really great things at your feet, sometimes literally. Always.

So here we went, Bernie and I beginning our one boy, one dog adventure. Dogs revere their masters. And I think most people who have taken a dog in revere their dog. It may take time, much like they say it takes a lot of fathers a full year before they bond with their newborn, but the inevitable result is you fall for them hard, just as they have for you. You love their innocence, their purely pleasant dispositions, their absolute elation when you verbally relay good news in your life to them--even though they have no idea what the hell you're talking about. Watch your dog, how he or she responds and the soft tone of your voice. It's everything you need to know about how your dog feels about you.

So Bernie would be outside while I worked late into the night on swing shift. Sandy worked swing shift too, but her shifts would often end an hour or two before mine. At some point, she told me about Bernie's behavior when I was coming home from work. "Yeah, she goes crazy," I said, assuming I knew what Sandy was talking about. "She loves it when I come home." No, Sandy said, I'm not talking about that. Whenever you're gone, at some point Bernie starts prancing back and forth, barking, whining. I always know that in two or three minutes your car will pull up. Somehow, she knows you're on your way home before you're even in the neighborhood, it's amazing.

Magic ears. I didn't know what to say about that then, I don't know what to say about it now. It's part of what makes dogs "kids" and masters "parents." It's why dogs love you, and why you love dogs. It's why only dog loves/owners understand, when non-doggie people roll their eyes.

It's a part of the dog-human connection you and I can't explain, even though we understand it completely.

Bernie's Magic Ears (Part One)

***This is Bernie and Poochie in fall or winter 1995, on the bed at the little cabin Elizabeth and I lived in at Lake Tahoe until we were shot at. That's where we were laying when I heard the knock on the door. Also, I abandoned that Budweiser sign in a Wal-Mart parking lot in Carson City at some point.***

While I lived in Tahoe, I worked at Caesars--as in the casino. At some point or another, I worked every minute on the clock--pick a time, anytime, and I'd worked at that time. Day shift, swing shift, graveyard, crossover shifts. Nothing like having a beer when you got off work--at 7am! Actually, I spent most of the last three years there working swing shift, which meant I got off at 3am. As a rule, us swingers would wrap-up any post-work imbibing before sunrise. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

So yeah, for the first year of those last three I had both Bernie and Poochie. I've mentioned that Bernie hated to stay inside without a human there with her, so I left them outside while I was gone. That is, until I came home one night and a fragile Poochie had slipped on the ice, wasn't able to get up, and her butt was frozen to the ground when I came home! Thereafter, I left Bernie and Poochie inside. Poochie only lived another six months after the butt-ice incident.

So then it was just Bernie and Chad. I lived in a patio apartment that was part of a coworker's house. Her name was Sandy, she's a couple years younger than me and was married, and they had a dog. I want to say that dog's name was Angel, but I don't remember. Anyway, Sandy and Dennis got divorced at some point during my three-year tenure there, and Sandy got another dog. Or maybe they got the second dog before they got divorced. I don't remember. But Sandy had no husband and two dogs the last year or two I lived there, that I do know. Her dogs were crazy. Sandy is first-generation Italian-American, so she fluently speaks Italian. She'd scream at the dogs in Italian, waving a cigarette. It was hilarious. I actually know how to say "Quiet" in Italian, simply from hearing her screaming it a million times.

So after Poochie died, Bernie stayed outside while I worked and whatever, playing with Sandy's dogs if she was around or just hangin' out if not. I actually cut a peep hole in the bottom of the gate I built so Bernie could look out at the world while I was gone. I'd come home and her snout would be peeking out, nostrils flaring. Then she'd get up and go nuts, barking and twirling around, singing the way only Bernie could sing, tail wagging, running back and forth in the yard at full speed.

When I moved to St. Paul, I immediately put a fence around my backyard so she could hang outside while I was gone. My garage is at the back of the yard, and since I live on the corner, I walk up the sidewalk from my garage toward the front of my house, then slip into the gate on the side. Bernie would always go to the back of the yard once I pulled into the driveway. I get out of my car, we'd exchange pleasantries, and once I hit the city sidewalk I'd sprint, and she'd sprint alongside me for the length of the fence. I probably looked like a lunatic to unknowning passers-by, but I loved doing that with Bernie! It's the little things, right? I vowed I would do that each and every day till she didn't want to anymore. Know what? Though I didn't leave her outside so much over her last year, she ran with me down the fence everytime, till the end. I'd pull in the driveway, she'd be laying on the top step by the backdoor, she'd realize it was me, would bound down the steps, and trot toward the back of the yard. I always stopped my car before pulling into the garage just to watch her trot toward me. Then she'd bark, and sing, and I'd get out and say, "BERNIE!!!!!" It was beautiful, like we hadn't seen each other in forever, even though it sometimes was, like, only a half hour. Then we'd run the fence. It was perfect and I miss all of that everyday.

Post #61

"No, Rex. Go home."

(As always, click on the image for a bigger and better look.)

Can anyone relate to that? I'm sure some can.

That's all I got--for a variety of technical reason, this post took almost an hour. Outside beckons.

Dolphins

Ah man, I have these dark moments. Usually when I'm going to sleep, my mind races from point A to B to C then parks on Bernie's last day or days--then I quickly move my mind from that, though the damage has already been done. It's messed up and also suprising how impactful thinking about something for 3.9 seconds at night can be. Have a great day, get blindsided when it's over by wondering if you are evil. But 99.9% of the time everything is okay.

So yes, I kayaked and paddled into the channel, as I said fisherman on my right, pelicans on my left. Almost immediately, I saw a couple dolphins up ahead. I was excited. Then they kept appearing. I was really excited, and pulled my kayak over to the side--there's a short wall on each side of the channel. It was an interesting morning aesthetically, serene to the point of near-creepy, though the fact it was sunny lessened the weirdness factor. The vibe I was feeling suggested that it should have been cloudy, foggy, frightening. As it was, dolphins kept appearing in front of me, all the way to the bay. I paddled quietly, slowly. They were everywhere. Several were play fighting, many humped their backs out and back into the water, blowing air as they ascended, swimming alone, swimming in a school of six at one point--backs arching in perfect synchronicity. Others jumped out of the water in the manner that dolphins jump out of the water--if only I'd had a Hula-Hoop. Eventually, I tied up to a marker in the channel and just sat in my kayak, watching. I'd look one way at a dolphin, and I'd hear another behind me. They were right there, feet from me, close enough to see their body markings and battle scars--one had a broken fin, though it seemed of no bother. I untied, just floating, watching and listening. At one point, I turned my head, having been paying little attention to where I was floating, and there was a pelican about four feet from my face, sitting on the opposite wall of the channel. Neither of us flinched. At another point, a pelican basically flopped the couple feet between the wall and water, plucked a fish (about the size of a fish a person would eat) from the water, parked it in it's big ol' "pouch," and flew away to dine. In all, I must have enjoyed over 100 dolphin sightings from a dozen or two dolphins over the course of an hour. Then, stupid man started plowing through the channel with their boats--including a Coast Guard vessel--and I decided to paddle home, leaving my buddies behind.

I love animals.

Karma

***You go girl! How lucky were Bernie, Poochie, and I--then just Bernie and I--to live a stone's throw from this marvelous trail-filled forest? It is this forest and these trails where Bernie and I truly bonded. I loved being there, she loved being there, and we both loved being there with each other. Lake Tahoe, 1996***

Alright, I'm back in the Twin Cities. No comment about that, other than to say it isn't nearly as cool to return home without my beautiful black dog jumping up and down and in circles upon my arrival. It sucks.

Friday, though, was a special day in Rockport, Texas, for me anyway. I woke up bright and early (930), made some coffee, and started wandering around the Caruthers' compound grounds aimlessly, similar to a mob boss who is trying to make everyone believe he really is mentally ill so he doesn't have to stand trial for his alleged crimes. Still in my morning haze, I heard a duck honking (they really "honk," I don't know why it's called quack) madly, and I turned my eyes to the water. Long story short, a stupid seagull (stupid because they aren't supposed to do this) had plucked a baby duck--we call that a duckling in the business--from the water and had it on shore, hanging from it's mouth. Mama duck was pissed, Chad was pissed, duckling was pissed. I had to take action, because I love animals and this was not a natural predatory situation--if it would have been a mouse in a hawk's mouth, I would've been fine with that. If seagulls were supposed to pluck ducklings from the water, ducks would be extinct. Problem was, this was happening across the water, and I had no means to get there fast. So I clapped my hands, adding to the racket of the honking ducks and several loud seagulls that had gathered round, probably telling their buddy he is an idiot and to let the duckling go. The duckling, which was about the size of a closed fist, was flapping wildly while hanging from the seagull's mouth, and my loud clapping did nothing. I was seriously beginning to consider jumping in the water to swim across or throwing the kayak in quickly, alas, the seagull dropped the freaked-out duckling. I'm happy to report that I saw said family of ducks throughout the day, and none were physically injured from the morning's activity. Bernie would've been so proud of me for trying to help a member of her animal kingdom!

That's Good Karma Act Number 1.

Soon after all this, I decided to toss the kayak in and goof around in the canals and perhaps out into the bay, as I'd done on Tuesday. The water was calm and the winds low (which means less work), so it was a great idea. Sea kayaking, or any kayaking for that matter, on calm waters is very peaceful, and there are tons of birds in this area to watch. From time to time, you'll even catch a glimpse of a dolphin or two. Once, even, two dolphins "escorted" me through the channel out to the bay, swimming and curling out of the water no more than ten feet from my side till we reached the bay. This was a couple years ago, and it was a mesmerizing experience.

So, Thursday I slowly drifted and paddled through the canals toward the channel that leads out to Aransas Bay, along the way plucking two plastic grocery bags (dolphins mistake them for food, eat them, and die. Those bags are evil, evil, evil, my friends!) and a Styrofoam container from the water (traditional Styrofoam never degrades, so it's there forever. Evil!).

I'll lump those acts into one, so that was Good Karma Act Number 2.

Okay, so by now I was at the channel that leads to the bay, undecided whether I was going to continue or not, but again the waters were calm and it was about as easy of a paddle as you can get in that area, so I decided to forge ahead. A few fisherman dotted the sandy beach, and big beautiful pelicans lined the other side, just hanging out catching some rays. It was almost calm to the point of surreal, really placid and lake-like. Of course, this was the big bad sea, and you never know what will happen when traveling the high seas.

I'll have to leave it at that for now, for my mind, fingers and rest of me bod are tired. Do come back, next post will be the super-duper exciting karma conclusion!!!

A Dog's Life

***Bernie taking a break from work and play in the beautiful Sierra Nevada Mountains. Sad irony that the pigment cells within her that created the funky-cool purple spots in her oral cavity spurned her trip to Puppy Heaven. Nonetheless, I loved watching that silly, spotted, oversized tongue dangle from her mouth when she was exerted. I always tried to touch it before she could retract it! She most always won. Lake Tahoe, 1999***

Bernie loved it here. Tons of water, warm sunshine, me. We drove down here about five years ago, maybe longer--I'll have to check Bernie's diary. We drove from St. Paul to Lamar, Missouri, then cut diagonally across Arkansas and into Mississippi, then we followed the Mississippi/Louisiana border to the coast, then swung along the coast, caught the Galveston, Texas ferry and ended up here in Rockport, Texas.

This is a really good place to start yourself a little business, get yourself a couple of dogs, and hunker down and swim and sail through life.

I've done a whole lot of nothin' the past few days, aside from reading two books, a couple jogs, swimming, kayaking, eating, and sleeping. I did one-half hour of work for my full-time gig yesterday upon request--the whole experience was disturbing. I've done some work for my side projects, and that was voluntary and A-okay.

Bernie and I had a good few days down here back then. The pool area of the house is fenced in the traditional way on the sides, by the house on another side, and by the ocean on the fourth side, so it's enclosed for Bernie. She did gnaw on the exit doors a little one of the times we stepped out. That's her M.O. for displaying her displeasure and anxiety at me being gone. We also swam out in the canal here, saltwater, which through her off some since she likes to drink water while she swims. That practice was temporarily adjusted for our stay down here, and thankfully she didn't take interest in the jellyfish (and vice versa) that swam nearby on the surface.

We also went over to the public beach to swim in Aransas Bay, which sits here on the Gulf of Mexico. The waters are warm and calm in the bay. Bernie had swam in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Northern California way back when, and it was a super-rough surf and much cooler, but great! She wasn't unfamiliar with waves, as Lake Tahoe is known for a few at times. However, the Pacific Coast really challenged her and her efforts to keep her head and ears above water (it didn't work). I will look for pictures from that event, they are in a vault with all my pictures from our drive/move from California to Minnesota, in 2001.

I honestly have a dream about Bernie virtually every night, say at least five nights. I'm cool with that, they're pleasant for sure, yet it kind of amazes me. By the way, if you have trouble sleeping, particularly in the sense of waking up in the middle of the night, try slapping a Breathe Right across your nose before you start popping pills. As Bernie used to say, "The dog has a good nose, they'll make you breathe like a dog." What more could you ask?

So there ya have it, partly cloudy (they'll burn off) and 70+ degrees here at 10am. I'll catch ya on the flipside, upon return to latitude 44.9330/longitude 93.1629.

Ferocious in the Trap

***Your friendly author, nowhere near Minnesota or winter; April 6, 2009***

This is just in, video of Sophie Tucker. If you have no idea who Sophie Tucker is, check out the April 6 post. --the management

Sophie Tucker Rocks

Chad himself is on vacation, on a remote desert island, but he must pass along this doggie done good tale, so please click here for the story, it's a good one! Cheers!

Metaphor

Four or five years ago I took a roadtrip with friend Julie to Chicago, making a point of checking out Cook County Hospital. It had closed within that year, and there was no doubt as to why upon seeing it. For one, the ER dock was about the size of the driveway of my childhood home. I stopped by the hospital because that's the hospital that ER was based upon.

I remember watching the series premiere of ER on September 19, 1994. I was in the office of the Race and Sports Book at Caesars Tahoe in Stateline, Nevada. Friend Russ Deem and I closed the book down after the last post at New Jersey's Medowlands Race Track, and stayed late to see what the next incarnation of NBC's Thursday night slot would bring. First Hill Street Blues, then LA Law, now ER. Us both having been diehard viewers of NBC's medical drama St. Elsewhere during the 80s (Wednesday nights), Russ and I eagerly anticipated ER. I craved the medical angle, tonight's "highlight" along that line an inverted uterus during childbirth that churned my stomach and fostered a genuine jolt of empathy over a TV scene and character--rare for me, my inner repsonses typically reserved to the line of thought that a scene generates, deeper than what I'm seeing on the screen. Fifteen years later, April 2, 2009, the plug was pulled on the series, and the last episode was everything the series ever was. They bookended the show with the since-dropped opening theme song and speckled the body with rich subplots, as always. Michael Crichton would be proud.

A friend/Caesars co-worker named Gray--I don't recall his last name--abruptly left his job at Casears because he had to go to LA for a casting audition. It was an ER character, the role being that of laying on a gurney, as a patient. I don't know if Gray got the role, but I hope he did.

In the one-hour retrospective that preceeded tonight's two-hour series finale, Sherry Stringfield (Dr. Susan Lewis) said that what she always loved about the show was the humanity angle. My words now, ER simply had the ability to bring forth emotional thoughts and responses that I for one don't visit often. It left my guts on the floor more times than not, a relationship unto itself, anguish and raw decrees from within oft illicited. A pretty package of love and disdain for all-things humanity.

As I've mentioned, I adopted Bernie on September 25, 1994, six days after ER's birth. I spent a lot of time tonight during the two-hour finale thinking of her, or better put, being reminded of her. The cameos by every ER actor revisiting times past in an utterly natural way reminded you of life in and of itself. Times and relationships come, they go. They sometimes almost break you and are what shapes you. There is no sadder ending than that from a scene where you didn't pay attention to the beginning or enough in between. There within lie the memories, the feelings desired and sometimes despised, the bulking of your soul.

Fifteen years brings a lot and takes some away. Somewhere there is a boy who caught the last episode of ER with his parents and in their bedroom, wondering what all the fuss is about. Twenty-five years from now, that boy will remember that moment, a mimic of how I recall Hill Street Blues. Alas, tune in next Thursday at nine o'clock Central for the next must-see NBC drama, the series premiere of Southland.

I had dinner with Julie last night, first time I'd seen her in a couple years. Meantime sadnesses and joys revealed, that moment in time a drop into a pool of water gernerating a ring of memories for the minds present.

Goodight Bernie.