Henry and me redux

It's ridiculous how humans fawn over their dogs. What must the canines be thinking when these perfectly sane otherwise individuals hug them tightly and whisper sweet nothings in their ears?

 

 

 

You'd think their animals were beyond compare! That their dog excels at love like no other, is smarter than the latest Nobel laureate (they just can't communicate all their wisdom to us), deserving of treat after treat after treat. People, what are you thinking?!

*     *     * 

I found my thrill, on this Squirrel Hill (sorry, Fats Domino, for playing around with the lyrics),

The moon stood still, on this Squirrel Hill, And lingered til, My dream came true...

Why do I even take Henry to this spot of exciting scents and scurrying critters? He is completely transfixed by them.

 

*     *     * 

Henry tested my willingness to get up and out at 4:30 a.m. this morning. I thought about it briefly then rolled over and ignored him. He accepted my dismissal and wet back to sleep for another hour and 25 minutes. So, up at around 6 and judging by his behavior outside, he really was serious about needing to pull me out of bed. Good boy, Henry.

And then we went through the usual routines and they are lovely, with the added benefit that on the weekend I don't turn on the news for my morning hours. I go straight to music. Of the Sarah Vaughn kind.

*     *     *

This was to be a completely "Henry and me" day. No others in it. But I changed my mind at the last minute and decided to take half of last night's home made soup over to the farmhouse. Henry and I stayed outside because I did not want him to freak out the snoozing cats. So instead, he freaked out the chickens.

He was pulling hard to sniff everything and anticipating this, I put him in the stronger harness that wont create sores from all that heaving.  

 

 

 

We canvassed the farmette lands.

While evil Pancake followed with his gaze, waiting for the right moment to claw Henry's eyes out.

 

 

 

(This poor trusting pooch, who just wants to be friends with all the animals. Well, maybe not the squirrels. I do not know what his intentions are with the squirrels.)

 

 

And then I asked Ed to join us on our favorite loop in the local park.

(always the sandhill cranes in this area...)

I've not done it with Henry yet and I feel the pooch needs to be as familiar with our beloved path as we are, if he's going to be a full fledged member of the gang. Our gang.

*     *     *

Did you know that our favorite local hiking park is very, very close to a dog park? We always pass it and comment on the number of cars in the lot (sometimes many, sometimes few). After our park walk (which has to be on leash), I suggest we test this doggie world. The place is for off leash exercise and it's moderately busy today. Henry runs like the wind!

(Next to a Bernese Mountain Dog, Henry looks... small.)

Okay, so Henry has snuggled with me, hiked with both of us, and explored the farmette lands under the evil gaze of Pancake. What's missing? Stranger contact in a new indoor setting! I take Henry and Ed over to Tati's -- the one coffee shop that I know of that actually allows dogs. 

Tati's is a ten minute walk (or 2 minute drive) from the farmette and I've surely been there often enough, but never with Ed. We talk about why that is the case. (He says I never asked!) 

The coffee shop is crowded with a millennial birthday celebration. Or maybe it's a Gen Z group? (They're both rowdy cohorts, don't you think? Ha! I guess this is the 72 year old in me speaking!) It's all rather terrifying to Henry, who sits down stubbornly by the door. No prob! I have the treats! Oh, do I have the treats! Slowly but surely I coax him over to the cafe couch. 

 

 

 

Ed gets us a cinnamon roll and the pooch chews happily on a chew stick I had for him.

(Not sure having him join us on the couch is acceptable doggie behavior, but no one said anything, so there Henry stayed. I took selfies of the two guys to my side -- Henry to the left, Ed to my right.)

*     *     * 

One more walk, this one in the late afternoon,  and just with Henry. In a new to me dog park! Eleven minute drive from the Edge to the Middleton Dog Park (MDP). It's important to do this today because we are getting a blast of very cold, very wet, very Novemberish weather tonight. Who knows where that will land us.

It's nearly dusk and I feel the first drops of drizzle. 

 

 

 

And yet, despite the dreary cold, I'm not the only one at the park. And unfortunately, at least two of the dog owners (Gen Z again!) have absolutely no control over their horrible pooches -- a Corgie and a husky short legged barker.  You'd think Henry could easily outrun those two, but they were relentless and they didn't just bother my sweet boy, they bothered me, with their stubby muddy paws leaving paw prints all over me.

 

 

Henry and I have now visited five dog parks in our three weeks together. We've met terrific dogs and dog owners. And now one or two awful ones. I hope the good ones stay with Henry and the not so good ones are already just a distant memory. Perhaps revisited in those seemingly vivid dreams that dogs have sometimes, but then quickly forgotten again.

*     *     * 

The goal is to move up dinner, move up couch time, move up everything, and perhaps rethink the habit of munching on dark chocolate just before bedtime, all with the goal of giving me a good night's sleep. This is easy to do today, as I haven't kid duty and I have a simple dinner to prepare. And yet, that evening linger on the couch, with this pooch...

 

 

 

... is so very irresistible!

 Oh, Henry -- you do make me smile, again and again and again.

with so much love... 

 

moving along

Henry, my big rescue dog, is both a teacher and a student. He may be a faster learner than I am. He rarely goes after his leash these days, he "hangs back" before entering the elevator, he follows my morning and evening routines with a predictability and meticulousness that is downright disarming. 

Nearly three weeks into dog ownership and I am still hoping that Henry will push his awake and aware time closer to 7:15. Okay, I'll settle for 7. Not, like today's 6! I blame the time change of course. You'll tell me to push bedtime and going out at night time and I do! Yesterday I was out with him after 10 p.m. for his final bathroom break. And still, here we are, walking, way before sunrise.

(the remains of the Beaver Moon and a harvested corn field)

 

Of course, it's not really about Henry: I'm the problem here. There is nothing inherently ridiculous about getting up between 6 and 6:30. My two friends from yesterday's breakfast gathering are routinely up for an exercise class (online) at 6. Willingly. By their own choice. They have healthy habits so I am sure they get the requisite hours of sleep. The trick is to go to bed early. And as I am barely done with dinner clean up at 8 (yesterday it was even later), it becomes very hard to go to sleep soon after. You can't wash your last soup dish and then go straight to brushing your teeth. I need my couch time! With Henry preferably at peace and next to me.

Well, the morning walk is lovely, despite the early hour. Or maybe because of it?

(where are you dark eyes, my beautiful black-faced pooch, on this still dark morning?)

 

 

Breakfast. He sees me cutting up fruit and hears the sound of the coffee machine. Ah, she will be at the counter. Time to take my morning nap. I know she will join me imminently.

He is right. I will.

 

 

 

Ed and I agreed to meet up and talk some more today. He actually wanted to do this tomorrow and over dinner. He still does not understand that Henry wont allow us to go out to dinner, and having takeout at the Edge invites the participation of the pooch in some fashion. Besides, I'm not good at waiting several days for a "serious conversation." So it's today. After I drop off Henry at doggie day care, and pick up a few groceries while I am pooch-less.

(Oh no, a selfie?I hate these! If you hate them, we shouldn't do them. I don't mean hate really, but I do this just for you. Yes, I admit it, this one you do purely for me. And that's really sweet of you.)

To me, all this has been stressful and sometimes our discussions have left me feeling depleted and worse off than before they began. But today's felt different. Perhaps we hit rock bottom and now are finally seeing some light, to borrow from a cliché. Talking it through, allowed us to address what we both value and love and what we're ready to drop and move away from. Ed feels great afterwards and I'm okay too. Maybe we're ready to get going on the next chapter? Maybe.

 

In the afternoon, I pick up the kids.

(Sparrow is thrilled to have a birthday party invitation: it's an ice-skating party... hmmm... do we have time to put him on skates before that?)

 

 

(What's the best thing that happened today at school, Snowdrop? We got a stick out a tree by boosting Valeria up to reach it!  Why is Middle School so academically boring for so many kids?) 

 

And I return them home a tad earlier, without stopping to pick up Henry. I want to give myself a few minutes with the residents at the Edge: there's a cookies gathering and once again, I want to see who shows up. (Yesterday, when I went out with Henry in the evening, I locked myself out of the building. I realized there isn't a person here whom I could buzz to let me in. I should remedy that!) (Oh, you want to know how I made it back inside? Well, lucky break for me there: you can often spot another resident walking their dog around the building. I cornered one, introduced myself, and explained my predicament. He said -- yes, I know you. You live on my floor. Clearly I need to pay attention more to the people here!) And I'm successful! I now know two names and apartment numbers!

I head out to pick up Henry. How can you not feel all warm inside when you see your dog jumping for joy knowing that you're there for him.

 

 

And now it's evening. Just Henry and me. My lively but also snuggly pup that now, when stretching, can occupy the whole length of the couch. And pin me down for the evening with his big hearted affection.

 

 

with so much love...  

Thursday's summary

You see your friends for your breakfast meetup at the end of August. Two weeks later you are moving into an apartment on the other side of town. Only you don't announce it (to those who are not Ocean readers -- hard not to announce a move on Ocean!) -- because really, it's so complicated. Talking about it makes your head spin. People are traveling, so there's a bit of a break in the breakfast gatherings. Next one falls on November 6th. So do you just show up and say -- by the way, I neglected to mention that I actually do not live at the farmhouse anymore and those flower fields? A thing of the past. Oh, and I got a dog and he is very large but a little shy when meeting new people. Let's eat!

I think about this as I take Henry out this morning. Last night's supermoon, the Beaver Moon, is still with us at the early portion of our walk.

 

The weather remains solidly good! It will really get chilly in a couple of days but for now, we are enjoying the lingering fall colors. Here we are on Squirrel Hill, so named by me because Henry is so excited to pick up their scent everywhere!

But I have to hurry. My breakfast meetup is, well, on the other side of town and Henry needs to go to doggie day care first and that's in the opposite direction.

 

(heading downtown, along a very familiar stretch of road...)

 

 

Breakfast with friends. I'm better at writing about rather than talking about life's changes and the reasons for them. How often do you regret your choice of words when describing a tricky situation? Yeah, for me it's quite often. There's not an editing option once you've put down an idea. Still, they're friends, it shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter.

We sit at the table for a very long time. This is normal. We always extend the breakfast into the lunch hour. 

(the food is grand, the setting -- all blue and beautiful) 

 

As we pass the noon hour, I have to take off and return to my new neighborhood. The kids will be waiting.

(Sparrow, with a brief stop at home, where he shows me all the Halloween candy he does not like -- anything with peanuts heads the list)

 

 

 

I would like to say that it was a wonderful afternoon, but unfortunately, Snowdrop slammed the car door on her fingers and much as I like to provide instant remedies for a child's pain, I could not think of any for this beyond time, and a cozy snuggle on the couch. With two chapters of Anne of Green Gables. 

As always, we end the day with picking up Henry. The pooch is so very excited and happy to see us that I forget how shy he really is, until he encounters people he doesn't know indoors and I feel him pulling back. Yesterday, several residents urged me to bring him to that gathering at the Edge, but Henry would have none of it. Possibly not the best time for him -- in the evening he is tired and very hungry. He's going to want to go home. But still, it is a reminder that I have got to get him exposed to more strangers, so that he will slowly let go of his initial shyness. (Once he has a few minutes with you and he sees that you aren't there to beat him up, he is your friend for life.) 

Tonight, predictably, he eats voraciously and then settles on the couch by me. My supper is very late. How can I walk away from this snuggler-supreme?

With so much love... 

Wednesday distractions

With kids and with dogs, you can't always tell -- is it a fluke? An anomaly? Or a new trend that you should either celebrate or worry about? Long time readers, do you remember Snowdrop and sweaters in the summer? I could list dozens such phases that my daughters and grandkids went through that seemed troubling -- or irrelevant. You can't tell until time elapses and you realize that it was nothing -- or that it was a game changer you should have mobilized all available resources to deal with before it spiraled out of control.

So, too, with Henry. His one puddle accident had me worried. Is he really potty trained or was I just lucky for a few days? His early wake-up yesterday had me wringing my hands at this new eagerness to be out before sunrise. His evening bark for attention sent chills of fear -- what if he is now a barker and neighbors will complain? I saw a white note posted on my door yesterday and I panicked: someone is complaining? Does he bounce his Kong too hard? Is it something else? (It was a notice of an upcoming mechanical inspection of the units.)

So let me fast forward to this morning: Henry rolls out of his bed at the foot of my bed at 6:45. He is easy to walk.

(is it too early to celebrate?)

He takes his place on the couch while I eat breakfast...

...knowing that my next step is to go to that spot on the couch, lift half of his heavy torso, and place it on my lap. He rests, I read and write and listen to the oral argument at the Supreme Court. 

 

Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on whether you're looking at my wallet or at Henry's well being), Henry has daily appointments at doggie day care this week. I take him there once he is up and rested, because I have one of my interesting doc appointments (ones where I'm told that I need to keep an eye on something potentially troublesome, but not yet at the stage of worry that would make anyone do anything about it, so I just keep coming back and we dont get anywhere, but at least nothing bad happens either).

Since I am minutes away from Madison Sourdough, I pick up an order of croissants from there (to freeze for another time). And a few cookies for Ed who requested them next time I'm at the bakery. 

It's not a great idea. I do not need the reminder of another era, when picking up treats here was joyous. Similarly, as I drop off the cookies (Ed's not home, or at least not at the farmhouse)...

... I am not tempted to stay. I have a cinnamon roll (our favorite from before), but I take it to Tati's Cafe in the new development. I have an hour to kill before it's time to pick up spinach from our winter CSA. I'd rather kill it at Tati's, though even there, too, the memories are strong -- of kids stopping for ice cream on their way to the farmhouse. 

 

 

 

I watch a couple come in with their dog. Remarkably similar to Henry, but then all big black dogs will forever remind me of Henry. They feed her ice cream. I suppose I could bring Henry here for ice cream some day. (Tati's is the only coffee shop that I know of that allows dogs.) If I decide to move back to this neighborhood. Will I though? (And is ice cream good for dogs anyway? For these young people, it's just a fun shared pleasure -- watching their pup lick up a dish of vanilla ice cream.)

 

 

 

Why all this wealth of feeling now, nearly two months after I opted to move out? I suppose it's because I held out hope that our topic of discussion was just that: something to be discussed, sorted through. What I did not know is that in sorting through facts, recollections, feelings, you're going to dig up stuff that not only doesn't help move things forward, but has this way of dampening your enthusiasm for a resolution at all. If it's this way, then why bother?

I created my own space at the Edge. A friend suggested I retreat into for a while. I think that's wise. Offering solutions, ideas, interpretations isn't getting us anywhere. Indeed, it's just making everything more tangled and complicated.

I pick up spinach, go home to a Zoom call, then head out to pick up Henry. There is a nacho party at the Edge and I stop by just to see who is there. My doc earlier in the day offered some sound advice on the problem I'm facing with my lungs. Different issue, but so similar! Everything in life is just a repeat of something else that already happened! He said -- actually, don't medicate, don't do breathing exercises, don't do any of that. Just distract yourself: with music, a book, anything that you like. Nothing exacerbates your problem more than trying to solve it. Don't try. My daughter (at 38) has your pulmonary issue -- my wife tells me "do something!" I respond -- I know my job, believe me. This is what she has to do.

Henry and I settle on the couch, his sublime head on my lap again. We watch a goofy show together. I am determined to get him interested in TV viewing. So far, no progress. He looks at me instead. With those trusting eyes.

and so much love... 

no, not three fives!

Henry, you're going about it backwards: I took you out late last night. I expect you to push wake-up time as well. I would very much like that. Inch forward to a reliable 7:15. That would be cool. Yesterday, you still woke before sunrise, but at least it was just before sunrise (which is, right now, at 6:37 a.m.). Today's stirring and ultimate get up and stretch was at 5:55 a.m. Henry, not before 6, you hound, you!

I can't take the risk of an accident. We are too early into the game for me to tell you to leave me alone. You want out, you're going to get me up and out. 

(waiting for a squirrel to magically fall out of a tree)

("A new route?")

And then of course, after breakfast (his and mine)...

... Henry decides that actually, it was not enough sleep. He curles up partly on my lap (it could never be totally on my lap because, well, he is a big dog) and takes a long nap, immobilizing me completely so that my coffee gets cold, my smart watch flashes warnings that I should stand already, my chores remain unfinished.

At least I have my Kindle near me. Here's what I am reading: let me preface it by noting that I'm into light fare right now. (I'm saving myself up for Atwood's memoir which is not light fare and which came out today.) Even in this light and breezy mode, good writing is essential for me to stay with a book, and interesting characters are a must as well. I care less about the plot. I just want to enter through a door to a fictional world where I like the people, and where elements of their story make me smile. I get recommendations from a number of sources and I cannot remember where this one came from but it is a very fine match with my mood right now, and I love the author's interpretation of what it's like to go through the day as a septua- or even octogenarian. It's a mystery novel and the ones investigating the crime are... old. Delightfully old rather than decrepitly and invisibly old (though fading friends appear in the story as well). The title? The Thursday Murder Club.

So much of fiction these days (and especially mystery writing) avoids the topic of gaiety in old age. What gaiety exists (adventurousness, curiosity, perhaps romance, any form of delight) seems to be there only for those who haven't quite moved into retirement yet (indeed are not even close to it).  Sure, you'll see books that have superhuman aging heroes and heroines who do remarkable feats, or very sick and very confused players who are one foot out the door already. But this series of books picks out British old people in a retirement home who aren't done drinking their glasses of wine and inserting themselves into the lives (and deaths) of those in their community. It is a very fun read.

 

Once Henry is up, I take him to doggie day care. Since it's one of the last warm-ish days, I have a long postponed date with Ed at the farmhouse. 

(still venerable behind the maples?)

 

 

(sheep shed and crab apple) 

 

We're to do our bike loop from here, the extended one to Grace Cafe in McFarland. I'm not sure I am fully up for it, but I cannot postpone it yet again. It's now or wait until next spring.

It is a strange excursion. At times, we ride alongside and discuss all that still hangs in the air. Then we go single file and I stew about how little progress we have made in this. And I wonder, am I discouraged enough to think we are at the brink of something new and not altogether good for either of us? 

Throughout, it is a pretty ride. Weird interplay of words and scenery. Definitely the latter is the better of the two.

 

We reach Grace and neither of us wants to go in. We sit on curbs, different curbs, separated yet again in our own worlds and thoughts. 

And then we do go in, and we talk about stuff we've read about lately. And I drink my coffee, and we are on our bikes again, and I bring up our ongoing topic and I realize that I am maybe never going to break through. Ed lives in his own headspace. Nothing I say will change things there. New ways of looking at something are blocked at the entrance from ever getting in. Should I keep trying, or is this merely frustrating us both?

Or, am I maybe using the wrong words? Is it him or is it me that's solidifying this separation of thoughts, emotions, lives? I don't have a ready answer there. And I don't know how (or quite frankly if) I can get us out of this morass, swamp, quagmire -- call it what you will, sometimes (right now?) I think it's impossible to push us through, to emerge in daylight once again.

 

I pick up Snowdrop.

It's a full day for her -- she has a preschool meeting of the student council, and a post-school meeting of the drama club. The girl thrives on a full schedule so I'm not concerned about her ability to get through it all, but still, I have to think she is tired, as dusk sets in, and she emerges from the school building.

We go to the Edge for just a short spell. Read, eat, go to retrieve Henry, 

 

 

... then head home. Hers first, then ours. Me and Henry. I had made a huge pot of red lentil soup yesterday -- half for me, half for Ed. This is what cooking has been like for me: a vast amount of food, prepared late into the evening, then no cooking for the next several days. The menu may change, but the strategy remains the same.

Henry, how was your day, my sweet pooch? Difficult? I hope not. 

(immobilized for two hours by my lap dog)

 

 

with so much love... 

Monday with the kids

My grandmother lived by her own set clock:  in bed by 7, up by 5. I am sure that when I was little and lived with her and then later spent summers with her, I was put to bed at that same early hour. When I was school-aged, she was less insistent on a bedtime for me. She closed the door to her own bedroom and that was that. I think I was told not to go outside, but what I did with myself then was up to me. Most likely I read books and wrote in my diary. There was little else to do in that farmhouse and in any case, reading and writing were just fine with me. I was happy.

Henry is like my grandmother, except we fast forward an hour: he dozes off by the new 8 p.m. and is up by the new 6 a.m. I wish he'd putter in the kitchen and fix me breakfast like my grandmother did, but perhaps that's too much to ask of a dog.

Out we go. In time to witness the 6:35 a.m. sunrise.

It's November, but it is still beautiful and colorful outside. And there is a lot of squirrel activity!

I'm thinking that I am actually quite lucky to be living with him in this commercial (yet almost rural) area with really vast swaths of greenery. If you are in a residential neighborhood, you really should strive to keep your dog off of people's lawns. You have the strips by the road for him to sniff out. That's it. Not so here: I have abundant options. Hills and vales of green space. Henry loves it. I love it.

Breakfast and the hour after are his peaceful time. Having tested his options ("no" to chewing the edge of the carpet, to dismantling my cactus plant, to going after my shoe, "good boy Henry" to finding a toy to toss around for two minutes, to standing by the door pretending to really have to go outside again, and to finally taking up most of the couch for a morning nap)...

 

(in this position, the internet identifies him as a Great Dane!)

... he settles down, I catch up with my computer. 

Monday is doggie day care day, not only because I have just come off of a weekend of "Henry and me." On Mondays, I have two kid pickups to do and today it's actually three kid pickups because Sandpiper also needs care (his school happens to be closed today). There isn't room in the car for all those kids and my almost Great Dane! Too, Henry can be disrespectful of boundaries -- a characteristic that amuses and delights Sparrow back there in the car, but may be less exciting for Sandpiper, who is definitely smaller than Henry.

 

(long corridors invite a race)

It's a late Henry pickup for me, not helped by the darkness that creeps up on us so much earlier now. I first take Sandpiper home (he does not want to go to doggy daycare with us), then drive over with the older two to meet up with vivacious Henry. As I drop the kids at their home, I have the idea that maybe Henry would like to say hello to their dog, Goose. Snowdrop and Sparrow are thrilled to take Henry inside. 

 

 

Wild chaos ensues. I'm thinking -- Henry will have had a full day!

My food-obsessed pup is more than ready for his supper. I know what's in store for us. He'll rev up the engines one more time before he settles down to rest. No matter how many hugs and sweet words I give him, it wont be enough. He'll offer one more pleading gaze for attention, a tug on my pants, maybe even a bark or two (unusual for him -- he is a quiet dog), like the child who cannot accept bedtime even when dead tired. Finally,  as I sit down to my own very late meal, he is all smiles: I am on the couch, his head is in my lap. Life is good.

Good night, sweet pooch. Sleep well. And maybe just a little bit longer tomorrow morning?

with so much love...