Life Goes On

FRIDAY. I haven't blogged in a very long time, or so it seems. For me, blogging is akin to breathing. When I don't blog, I feel as if a piece of me is suffocating. The challenge is finding something to blog about when I'm either in the doldrums or feeling decidedly uninspired. I blame both for my recent wordless hiatus.

Telly's hormones have kicked in. She's been "in season" for the past week and a half. Evidently unaware he was neutered five years ago, Murphy has turned our backyard into an X-rated playground. In all honesty, the blame doesn't rest solely with Murphy. An insatiable and incorrigible tease, Telly aggressively encourages Murphy's participation in this ritual, despite his total inability to breed. He seems most willing, nonetheless. I've spent the better part of a week trying to keep them apart so they don't "tie." (For more info on canine reproduction, click here.) Today I threw caution to the wind and relaxed my vigil. No strange dogs or coyotes have shown up all week, so I think it's safe to leave her outside unattended, but the urge to check on her every 10 minutes consumes me. Our four-foot fence is quite jumpable for an eager male suitor. Telly, herself, demonstrates daily how easily she can scale the fence, but thus far she jumps only if we're on the other side of it. Otherwise she's content to remain prisoner on our property. However, that premise has not been tested with an intact male dog waiting in the street for her escape over the Great Wall of Confinement.

The worst part of this is the undignified diapers Telly must wear during this three-week cycle. We traded the poorly-designed disposable whites for a more stylish and sturdy flannel-lined blue denim garment with disposable liners. Tres chic! The denim keeps our off-white carpets stain-free and does double duty as a cotton chastity belt. [The latter function is, at best, dubious. Murphy is not the least bit discouraged by Telly's hotpants.]


The prospect of raising a litter of puppies in our too-small kitchen gives me palpitations and cold sweats. M has threatened to spay the dog in the back room if I don't take care of it soon, or at least before Telly's next heat. Veterinary responsibilities fall on my side of the tote board, as I'm the one with flexible daytime scheduling options.

I'm starting to get caught up on projects long overdue. Health challenges and computer setbacks have slowed my work flow for several weeks. My work doesn't go away when I fall behind. It waits for me. This is both a blessing and a curse. Projects pile up on my desk like mountains. Hopefully I'll be caught up in less than a week, though I'm sure it will require forfeiting part of my weekend.

Our Albuquerque weather has been unusually warm this past week. Relaxing in the back yard after work each day has been delightfully soothing. Deep blue, cloudless skies provide a restful backdrop for the hot blanket of sunlight that pierces the bone-dry desert air. I try to ignore the dogs, but I'm easily distracted by their irrepressible drive to mate, in spite of the apparent futility of their efforts. The polite thing would be to turn away, but my curiosity always wins out. Let the record show that male dogs do not (repeat, do not) lose their urge to procreate when neutered. Murphy is powerless to resist the lure of our young canine in estrus. Mother Nature must be laughing up her sleeve.

Our record-breaking winter in Albuquerque has been intense, but brief. The trees have taken on the pea-green hue of leaves joyfully unfolding in early Spring. Dogwood and forsythia blossoms hang from delicate limbs, and daffodils stand at attention in neighborhood gardens. Though cooler temperatures are predicted for the coming week, the welcome mat is (unofficially) out: Spring is knocking at our door. Even sparrows are mating in our dusty front yard.

Life goes on. It's one of the few things on which we can depend. The sun rises and sets, the seasons change like clockwork, creatures make babies, birds migrate, and time marches on, relentlessly. During moments when there's not much else going on, nature hums like a well-oiled machine, we the casual observers of perennial rhythms. All we need do is slow down and notice. I'm one who embarasses easily when asked, "What's new?" and I've nothing to report. I wonder--just maybe--if it's enough to be content with answering, "Nothing at all." There's great richness hiding behind the illusion of an uneventful and (erroneously-assessed) boring life. Spring is around the corner. (I know that sounds impossible to folks in the Northeast chipping away thick ice after yesterday's storm.) I invite you to "stop and smell the roses" with me. Look for the wonder in Nature and her unstoppable cycles. It can't hurt.

Two black dogs sleep peacefully this evening, side by side, Murphy's paws resting gently against Telly's back. Two peas in a pod, gentle giant and half pint, forever friends. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on.

Enjoy the tune. It's one of my favorites.

OK, I get the message...

SUNDAY. People are getting nervous. I haven't posted anything for days. Emails are flooding in. "Are you OK?" some ask. "I'm worried," others say.

I'm parked in front of the TV this evening watching the Academy Awards -- something I rarely do. Don't worry because I haven't blogged lately. Worry because I'm watching the Oscars. Three hours into this show, my brain, I fear, is turning to pudding. A recovering TV addict, my appetite for mindless entertainment wanes daily, inversely proportional to my quest for inner peace. I know that sounds trite. The truth is, these days television is taking a back seat to personal work and a relentless search for meaning. Some days I don't have to look far.

The dogs are wrestling in my unlit bedroom. I hear them thumping about in the dark, batting marrow bones with their paws like hollowed-out hockey pucks. I think the doggie goalposts are somewhere in my closet. No longer a lap dog, our young pup is growing. She believes, however, she's still a lap dog. The sight of this exuberant bundle of glee depositing herself, ungracefully, on an empty lap is not for the faint of heart. We are increasingly reluctant to invite anyone to our home, until she fully understands she's a big dog, or more to the point, a baby dog in a big body. To make matters worse, she jumps on people and lunges on lead. Bad habits are hard to break. Lately, Cesar Millan is a frequent supporting actor in my dreams, which are eerily reminiscent of Cecil B. DeMille productions. I really must stop eating all that chocolate before bedtime. A hundred and one dalmations bouncing in my brain do not make for restful sleep.

On the plus side, Telly doesn't chew my shoes, beg at the table, or misbehave as puppies often do. She's completely housebroken. She's affectionate and plays nicely with others.

Dogs are great teachers. Murphy, my Canine Zen Master, continuously demonstrates patience and peace. He is my rock. Telly, an aspiring Master, always welcomes the day with tremendous joy, though her humans don't always grasp this concept before morning tea. Murphy and Telly live in the moment. They don't worry about their next meal, unpaid bills, deadlines, illness, war or climate change. My best days are those in which I fully embrace their enthusiasm and resonate with their simple joy, ignoring the mud they track on the carpets, tissues they pluck from wastebaskets and shred, furniture cushions askew, and puddles in the kitchen (they really are sloppy drinkers). Rather than endless reprimands to teach them to conform to our obsessive ways, I cover the furniture with sheets to protect each piece from dirt and mud. Carpets are vacuumed often, and once a day I pick up the scraps of paper and chewed toys off the floor, reminders of happy playtimes. I'm grateful they are both not only non-destructive of things that don't belong to them, but clever enough to know the difference. I love watching dogs be dogs and find comfort in realizing Telly will one day mellow and leave puppyhood behind. Only then can we have friends in for dinner.

N.B. We should have named the puppy "Adobe." Her coat is frequently caked with hard desert mud.

***

I've spent the past few weekends retiring one computer and preparing a new machine to be used for work. Data transfer is laborious and time consuming. Reconfiguring and reinstalling a lot of printers and peripherals, not to mention all that software, is taking way too much time. So for those who are wondering what's become of me these past several weeks, please know I'm waist-high in bits and bytes.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day I finish this data transfer. Maybe then I can take Murphy for a swim and dust off my camera again. I'll have time to begin serious training with Telly. She needs to learn that counter-surfing is not an endearing trait. Why have computers become so complicated? Files are much bigger now, and data invades hard drives like an octopus moving in on prey. Transferring everything from one computer to another used to take about 4 hours. Now it's taking ten times as long. I need to finish this project so I can get back to blogging, living, and enjoying my free time.

This is why people call Geek Squad. Perhaps I should have as well.

The Gentle Giant & Half Pint

With each passing day, Murphy and Telly become closer and closer. They are very well-suited to each other, their temperaments meshing like peas and carrots. Tiring easily from keeping up with puppy energy, Murphy makes daily valiant efforts to respond to Telly's continual invitations to play. They frolic endlessly in the back yard. We took them both to the dog park this weekend, twice, and Telly loves it. Murphy looks after his little sis and Telly greets everyone--both human and canine--with great enthusiasm and unbridled glee.

At night they crash hard and sleep soundly--Murphy at my side, Telly in her comfy kennel several feet from my bed. After two somewhat trying weeks, she is becoming well-settled in her new pack. All is well in our recently-expanded family.

Both pups fit nicely on Murphy's Freecycled loveseat!

More Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part XXIII

FRIDAY. I was reluctant to write another blog entry because I've become hopelessly enamored with the Yeshiva Boys. Watching their little music video is a daily ritual now, and I just didn't want to see it buried in my Archives. However, it's time to move on and write something.

To my chagrin, the new puppy wakes up at six o'clock in the morning. I thought she was stirring to the sounds of another early riser in this household: a clock radio, water rushing to showerhead, coffee brewing in the kitchen. Evidently this is not the case. Telly simply likes to awaken at six with a weak, but perceptible, whimper that says, "Please let me out of this cage. I need to be near you, jump all over you, and generally create havoc." And she does.

Telly's first order of business is bursting out of her crate like a boomerang on speed, pouncing on Murphy (who pretends to be sleeping), biting his ear, and making a complete circuit of the house like Stirling Moss. It's hard enough getting up when it's pitch black outside. It feels like the middle of the night. The real challenge is speedily commandeering the puppy to the back door before she has an accident. (So far, so good.) At 58, racing is not something I do well at any hour, but especially early in the morning. The biggest insult is pulling on, with great dispatch, my thermals and heavy layers to repel the icy nighttime chill. Tying my shoes is pretty much out of the question, so I've taken to wearing my slippers outside for Telly's early morning peregrinations. At least they're warm. I never have time to get my coat from the coatrack at the other end of the house, so I wrap myself in a cozy fleece blanket. Murphy always joins us in the dark cold, but soon returns to his sleepy retreat on my bed. Telly, on the other hand, is off and running. Next stop: The Breakfast Bar.

Our 20 degree morning will soon warm to nearly 50. The sun has been especially warm lately, though shaded ground still bears patches of ice and snow from recent storms. Murphy has taken to sleeping outdoors in the sun during the day, in part to escape the Telly Monster's incessant attempts to engage him in puppy play. Nearly six, Murphy has a limited appetite for puppy wrestling, but will chase tennis balls for hours. When Telly arrived, puppy play was a novelty and he couldn't get enough. Now he seems to prefer sleeping.

It's below zero in Carroll County, NH this morning. Wind chills are expected to plunge to minus twenty-five, and the warmest part of the day will be but a single digit. This brief reminder--Albuquerque's winter pales in comparison to New Hampshire's Arctic cold--is as warming to my bones this morning as a bowl of hot chowder. These days I avoid comparisons to Florida, where the winter has been as warm and dry as the southwest has been cold and snowy. I guess I picked the wrong year to leave Florida.

Telly is gnawing on a "bully stick" this morning. For those of you who don't know what a bully stick is, trust me, you don't want to know. (If you must know, read this. But remember, you were warned...) My primary client has gone away for a few days, so my workload is light. It might be a good day to catch up on work that's been sitting on my desk for weeks (and in some cases, months). The dogs are quietly digesting their breakfast, but this temporary calm will soon give way to frenzy. I'd better have my second cup of Earl Grey now, before chaos sets in. Puppies are cute, but I'll be relieved when this one matures, mellows, and slows down a tad. So will Murphy.

I rather enjoy watching the sunrise, but at 8:30 in the evening I'm ready for bed. A confirmed night owl retiring mid-evening? Good grief.

Forty Pounds of Trouble

TUESDAY. We rescued a six month old puppy this weekend. They say she's a Lab/Shepherd mix, but I have a feeling there's a little Border Collie in there somewhere. We're considering a name change, since the name she came with is Telly, as in Telly Monster, a Sesame Street character. Inasmuch as she's already had two different names, confusing the poor thing with yet another name gives me pause (or paws, as the case may be). I'm leaning towards Loki or Dakota. Several people have suggested Kelly. All name suggestions are gratefully appreciated.

No, this is not Murphy. This is Telly.


Telly loves to smile and thinks she's still a lap dog. She follows us everywhere just like...well...a puppy dog. Weighing in at 39 lbs. last night, she's a big baby, but nonetheless a baby. Murphy is both delighted and horrified to have a puppy in the house. Fortunately, she's crate trained, so timeouts are easy to arrange. She doesn't seem to mind downtime in her crate, and Murphy seems very grateful when she settles down. She loves to chase him, bite his back legs, and play tug with a fat piece of cotton braided rope. Both dogs have slept well the past two nights.




The following photo of Telly impersonating Cujo is for mature audiences only. Contains graphic violence. Not suitable for small children!


The truth is, she's a very docile, cuddly puppy--a total mush, whose personality is in no way represented by the vicious look captured above while the two chums were playing. I could sit and watch them play like this for hours. They're actually quite gentle with each other while baring their teeth like rabid beasts.

At the moment they're both sleeping...Murphy in the hall on his fuzzy blankie, Telly at my feet. Life is good.