Older Dog Wisdom - Tux 28: Mama's Lessons

As Tux, Grace, and I rounded the bend of the park path, we came face to face with a gaggle of geese sunning themselves in the outfield of one of the baseball field. There must have been a dozen of the big birds resting there. One goose, apparently the designated perimeter guard, started waddling toward us. 

Tux was stunned. He’d never seen a creature as large as this one who didn’t have four feet. Sure, he knew what birds were. Hadn’t he chased Robins and Cardinals out of his yard for years? But these creatures? They couldn’t possibly be birds - they were way too large. How could they possibly get off the ground? I didn’t have the heart to remind him that he’d flown in a jet - twice - and it was much larger than any of these geese. He and the jet had managed to stay in the air for fifteen hours without a problem.

What did the intrepid hunter do next? Why he went into his three-point stance, of course. Then he began to stalk the guard goose, placing one foot ever so slowly in front of the other as he began his approach.

The goose, for his part, couldn’t believe the audacity of the Cocker Spaniel - intrepid hunter or no. He quacked once alerting his fellows that there was an intruder. Several goose heads swiveled in our direction.

Grace, on the other hand, simply sat down to watch the unfolding drama. By now, she’d seen her brother stalk a wadded up piece of paper, a fallen tree branch, three crazy daschunds, and even a drooling devil dog which had attacked us. She wasn’t sure how this would play out, but she knew it would be amusing.

I kept thinking of all the stories I’d heard about geese being used as watchdogs and attacking intruders of their turf. While the baseball field could hardly be called their turf, if possession is 99% of the law, we were on their turf. How was I going to get Tux and Grace out of harm’s way if the geese attacked? I had no answer to that question.

Luckily for all concerned, nature called. Tux lost his bad-dog attitude and look when he squatted to pee. Somehow a male dog squatting to pee just doesn’t send the right vibe to a militant goose.

The geese all took to the sky suddenly. Apparently, break was over and they needed to return to the business of flying northward. There was much flapping of wings and honking both of which startled Tux. He actually ducked as the guard goose flew over his head. I was most grateful that the geese didn’t have a call of nature. The image of 12 geese pooping on our heads wasn’t a pleasant one.

Lesson Learned

Before you decide to be a tough guy make sure you remember you mama’s lessons about using the bathroom before embarking on a journey.

Older Dog Wisdom #13 - Getting What You Want

Tux and Grace got their Spring haircuts not too long ago, and it promptly snowed. They no longer had their shaggy Winter coats to keep them warm. I found myself being snuggled a lot. I didn’t let myself think I was being snuggled for snuggles sake. No, I was aware that I was the object of snuggling because I emanated heat - and I had the throw.

Tux tries to be independent. He works hard at it. For instance, as we speak, he is lying on his doggie bed with his back to Grace and I. We both know, though, that he has his favorite plush toy in his mouth and is falling asleep with it in his mouth. His back to us tells us that he’s aware that tough, independent Alpha dogs don’t sleep with their plush toys.

By the end of the day, Tux has had enough of being Alpha dog tough. He’s ready for some pets and snuggles from his Mom. So he climbs into my chair with me and we spend the evening together. He has to share me with my laptop, but he’s willing to give me that concession in order to be able to be close. He knows what he wants - an evening of being snuggled. He knows how to get it, too.

Lessons Learned

Too often we humans, unlike Tux, don’t know what we want. We have some vague idea of what it is, like “I want to be a best-selling author.” That’s a wonderful goal. Too often, though, we have no idea what it takes to get to that goal. Some think that all they have to do is write a book. While it’s true that in order to be a best-selling author, you do have to write a book, that’s not all there is to it. It may sound easy to some to say, “I’ll write a book.” It’s altogether another thing to sit down and do it. Writing a minimum of 80,000 words is no easy task.

Getting published is no easy task either. It takes perseverance and guts. If you can’t stick to it, sometimes for years, don’t go down the road. If you don’t have the guts to take rejections and to keep going after major setbacks, take the road more traveled. The road less traveled is sometimes full of travails that are not for the faint-of-heart.

Old Dog, New Lessons #3

A friend joined me in walking my dog, Tux, in our local park the other day. When she noticed me glancing at him often, she asked, “What are you looking for?”

I had to think a moment because, while I knew I checked on him often, I wasn’t really aware of what, exactly, I was looking for.

I told her that I was looking for a hitch in his gait as he walked, I looked to make sure he wasn’t limping, I wanted to see if he was at the end of his lead or was he walking closer to me (which tells me he’s not feeling well), and I wanted to ensure he didn’t pick up something he shouldn’t. It was on one of our walks, as I checked on him, that I first realized that Tux was losing his hearing. He was no longer responding to a dog barking in a nearby neighborhood or a child screaming in delight as his mother pushed him in a swing.

After we got home, I began thinking about our walks. I noted that what I look for in Tux every morning is the same thing that I look for in my first edit of a completed manuscript. Once I finish writing a manuscript, I get it printed out. The things I’m looking for in that first edit are the same things I look for in Tux.

• Is there a hitch in my writing? Does my writing flow or are there hitches in it? I think of a hitch in my writing as something that will stop a writer dead in her tracks or anything that will distract the reader.

• Is my writing limping? If the story isn’t moving along, it is limping. If the reader isn’t turning the pages like her hair is on fire, then the writing is limping.

• Am I moving along at a leisurely pace and not at the end of my lead? I want my story to feel vigorous and eager. I want the reader to want to know what’s going to happen next.

• Finally, I want to make sure there that I hadn’t put something into the manuscript that would stick in a reader’s mind as an irritant throughout the story. I want to make sure there are no loose ends. Did one of my characters promise to do something on page 26 and at the end of the book, that promise was still not kept?

Tux is an old dog who prefers to be called “older” rather than old because the word “old” has such negative connotations in this country. Regardless of whether he is old or older, he is still able to teach me new tricks, and he brings joy to my life because he finds joy in his.

Old Dog, New Lessons

In August, I posted about learning lessons from my ten-year-old Cocker Spaniel, Tux.

I learned another lesson from Tux a couple of weeks ago. We were out walking when a small dog started carrying on from his place of safety behind his chain link fence. Tux was okay with the frenetic activity of the small dog running back and forth trying to provoke Tux. When the other dog stopped and started barking and talking trash, it was more than Tux could stand and he took umbrage.

I was sure Tux would, at the very least, lunge at the other dog. No. What he did was to stop and look hard at the trash-talking mutt. Then Tux turned his head away and approached his sister who had been watching the interaction between the two males.

In the doggie equivalent of a high five, he walked over to his sister and gently touched noses with her. I’ve only seen him do this once before, and under similar circumstances. It was as if he were saying that he was the bigger dog for walking away and his sister was agreeing with him, and, indeed, was proud of him for doing that.

How many times have we allowed ourselves to be provoked into action by someone else’s words only to rue the reaction to those fighting words? I, myself, allowed myself to get provoked the other day when we were walking in a park that posted that all dogs have to be on leashes. When we rounded a bend in the sidewalk, a man was coming toward us and his dog was off leash. Knowing Tux as I do, I called to the man to please leash his dog. He ignored me. So I called to him again to leash his dog. His response was not to leash his dog, but to continue to advance on us. By this time, Tux, too, was being provoked because he knows it is his duty to protect his sister and his Mom and here was an unleashed dog heading toward us. Finally, in my best school teacher voice, I ordered “Leash your dog.”

Finally, the man tried to do just that. Not that his dog went to him when he was called. The man had to chase down his undisciplined dog, which, of course, amused me no end to see an overweight arrogant man chasing a dog around in circles. He did get his dog on a leash and as we passed one another on the path, with his dog growling and snarling, Tux had had enough and lunged at the other dog. He and I both knew that because I had him on a short leash, nothing would happen. But neither the man nor his dog knew that. The dog was totally intimidated. So, too, was the man.

I couldn’t help but mutter as we passed, “Keep your damned dog on a leash in the park.” His response was a snarled juvenile retort, “You don’t own this park.”

I know better than to allow people to provoke me. Nothing is served by it. While there was momentary satisfaction on my part for having spoken up, the interchange did nothing to change the man’s attitude that he didn’t need to obey the leash laws, that he was special, and the laws weren’t meant for him.

So now, I simply do what I have to do to protect Tux and his sister as well as myself from harm. If it’s turning and going in the opposite direction of the unleashed dog, we will do that.

Luckily, though, I’ve not seen that man and his in my park again.