A long goodbye

Jackson is dying. His hind quarters are on the verge of being completely non-functional. He is almost a paraplegic due to something called Wobblers Syndrome, a disease of the spinal column where the vertebras constrict the space where the spinal cord exists. The compressing spinal cord is no longer able to send signals to the rear legs so they slowly fail to work. He isn't in any pain but he will be crippled. If he were a younger dog he'd be a good candidate for surgery but he's too old to withstand a long recovery and rehabilitation. There is no cure and no shortcut to recovery.

The speed with which this happened has been astonishing. I've always known that big dogs had hip problems and knew that this would probably be his Achilles Heel. But it's accelerated so quickly over the last three weeks that I can hardly believe it. I've watched him go from being graceful, strong and athletic to being a mere shadow of his former self almost within months. What makes this doubly hard is that he's not in pain. He's just as happy and bushy-tailed as he's always been. It's just that his hind quarters don't work. And there is no cure, no do-over or last minute rescue for him this time. He will be paralyzed soon and there is nothing I can do about it.

One day soon, it could be in four days or four weeks, I will have to make the decision that I'm so afraid of making. I will call the vet and have him come out to the house to put poor Jackson to sleep. I will look into his amber eyes and watch the life drain out of him and wonder if he'll forgive me or if I did the right thing or if I could have done more. I have to find a way to make these last days of his happy ones, I'll do my level best. I don't have to overcompensate by telling him that I love him to pieces, I've talked to him that way for years. Which makes the whole thing that much harder. If there's an afterlife I hope he's in it, he'll be the first one I look for.

A Walk in the Countryside

Episode 9, Eternity and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich


There is nothing like a really good peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This particular American delicacy should be re-classified as its own food group. To experience it is akin to Nirvana, a state of bliss envelopes anyone who partakes of this manna especially when finished off with chips and a generous tumbler of milk. And while Jackson stares at me while I'm eating mine I just want to make one thing clear...this is MY peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

JACKSON: Is it good?
MOTLEYFOOL: Yes, very.
JACKSON: Just let me know if you can't finish it, OK?
MOTLEYFOOL: I'll give you a jingle.
JACKSON: Methinks I'm being ignored here.
MOTLEYFOOL: Jackson, you know why I don't feed you human food? I do have my reasons ya know.
JACKSON: Do tell, I'm curious.
MOTLEYFOOL: Well, remember how Boris died? He had a cancerous growth in his stomach.
JACKSON: Yes, I remember.
MOTLEYFOOL: I always gave Boris leftovers, you know, human food scraps and such. But I always heard that human food was really bad for dogs. As far as Boris was concerned I felt that by giving him those leftovers that I was partly responsible for his stomach cancer.
JACKSON: Awwww Motley, why do you beat yourself up like that? Boris lived a long life, we all have to go sometime, right?
MOTLEYFOOL: Yeah, I guess.
JACKSON: So stop fretting about that. Don't worry about stuff you couldn't possibly control. In the cosmic scheme of things giving Boris a home and a long life weigh far more than the meager amount of time that you might or might not have taken from him by giving him less than savory food.
MOTLEYFOOL: I dunno...
JACKSON: Listen to me Motley, this universe couldn't care less about those little things. There are bigger things, time, space, eternity, paradox and ultimately, love. You gave Boris more than enough of that.
MOTLEYFOOL: Very well. Geez Jackson, how do you come up with this stuff? Did they teach you these advanced concepts at Dogwarts School for Dogs?
JACKSON: Well actually, I got most of it from TV. Ever see Steven Hawking's Universe? Or maybe Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth?
MOTLEYFOOL: Yes, actually I have. But what do they have to do with any of this?
JACKSON: Ummmm...nothing really. I'm just trying to make you feel better.
MOTLEYFOOL: Hahahahahaha! Hey wanna know something? Boris and I had this little routine. At lunchtime I would always give him the last bite of my sandwich.
JACKSON: Alright!! Let's get this tradition going again!
MOTLEYFOOL: Well...I suppose it couldn't hurt. Ever had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?
JACKSON: No, but I'd love to try.
MOTLEYFOOL: Ok fella, here you go.
JACKSON: *Scarfing sounds* Oh Motley, this is divine!!! Oh brave new world!!!
MOTLEYFOOL: Pretty good huh?
JACKSON: Oh my!! Can we make this a regular thing? Please?
MOTLEYFOOL: *sigh* Yeah sure, anybody who can put all this into a cosmic perspective probably deserves nothing but the best.
JACKSON: Thanks Motley, I needed that. Oh, will you pass the Grey Poupon?

Mater

Mary Ellen Roland
February 27th,1916- December 11th, 2000


Mom, I miss you and think of you all the time. Your loving son.

On Lennon's passing

I managed to miss the anniversary of John Lennon's death by one day but I may get dispensation because I'm sure there's somewhere on the planet where it's still the 8th of December, so forgive me Johnny.

It was exactly 25 years ago that he was shot and killed. His death stunned and staggered the world. The news of his death hit me just as hard as the assasinations of JFK, RFK and Martin. In short, you remembered where you were when you first heard the news.

I was working with a theatre company in Northern California and on that night I went to the movies with (surprise) an actress from the company. It was our one night off from the theatre so it was a Monday night I beleive. We went to see the Walt Disney film Fantasia at the Century 22 and this was well before the resurgent interest we've seen in the film the last ten years. Because of this there was a total of seven people in the cavernous maw of this huge cinema. It was a night like any other, at least at first.

The movie was nearly over and I was wondering how-where-when-if I was going to score with this female but fate intervened slightly with my evil plans. The lights came up and as we were getting out of our seats the Assistant Manager of the theatre walked in down to our left and announced that John Lennon had been shot and killed. We were stunned. But we were also in denial. Could the guy have been wrong or playing a cruel joke? We rushed out to my car in the parking lot and sat there listening to KGO out of San Francisco. We didn't have to look far to find news of the tragedy, the airwaves were buzzing with the news of his untimely death. Our one little thread of hope, the notion that it could all be a mistake, was shattered. He was dead.

It was exactly half a lifetime ago for me and all I have left now are fragments. My letter to the editor of my local paper telling the world just what a loss we've suffered, the cover of Time magazine with a watercolor of Lennon and the headline The Day The Music Died. Bits and pieces. Ultimately that's all we're left with, right? Imagine.

Intolerable Cruelty

While on the phone with a friend this afternoon I attended to Jackson who wanted to go out in the yard. He's good about that. When he feels the need to go out he let's me know and I'm so grateful for that. I'm still on the phone and I hear Jackson's familiar howl outside which signifies one of two things...he wants to come in or he sees another dog and wants to chat with him/her.

I look out the window and see that Jackson's attention is riveted on a little terrier or Schnauzer that is roaming in the street. He seems friendly but also seems very lost. To see a dog that is lost is to feel awful because you can almost sense panic in them as they frantically try to find their way home.

I go outside and to see if I can spot a collar or some tags but I can't see much so I go back in and conclude my call so I can get back here and get a closer look. I burst out the door and see the little fellow across the street and I call out to him to not go in the street completely missing the notion that he can't understand a word I'm saying. I ask a couple of men passing by if they know whose dog this is and suddenly a tall young fellow appears across the street, walking purposely and angrily towards the dog. He scoops up the dog by roughly grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and then proceeds to slap the dog HARD three time across the head. The dog made the kind of yelping sound that makes your stomach crawl, the kind of sound an animal makes when it's being tortured or fighting for it's life. The force of those blows would have hurt a full grown human being, never mind a little dog the size of a house cat.

When I saw him strike the dog so viciously I physically gasped and blurted out "NO! Please don't hit the little guy!" The youth turned back to me and snarled "Don't you fuckin' tell me what to do with MY fuckin' dog! I'll mutha-fuckin' do what I want." I watched him walk down the street to a car, open the door, throw the dog in and drive away. My heart sank as I realized that this little dog lives a life of misery and will never be able to escape this kind of torment and brutality.

I realized that many people don't value the lives of other living creatures and that perhaps the way I treat Jackson is the exception rather than the rule. I really want to believe otherwise but today just isn't a good day for me to believe in the human race.