We have a new puppy! Already I love him to bursting and can’t imagine my life without him. Meet Rooster:

We got him from a rescue shelter a week ago Saturday. The people who had him before were bad, bad people who should have sharpened toothpicks inserted under their fingernails and then lit on fire. The toothpicks, not the people. Although I probably wouldn’t complain if they were set on fire as well. I don’t like puppy abusers. Not one little bit.

He’s the sweetest thing! So curious and energetic.

He chews on EVERYTHINGGGGG though. I have to do a sweep of the house every morning before leaving for work because if I don’t I’ll come home to a house that’s been ravaged in a fit of puppy rebellion.

He grabs my slippers off my feet to ferry them away and chewchewchew. He tries to get my sweater off my body by chewing at the sleeves until, he hopes, I slip right out of it and then he came nom nom nom his way to victory. I try to take pictures and there’s this:

But he’s a smart boy and he’s learning quickly. Usually a few words will get him back on track and if he doesn’t let go he’ll at least look at you with those puppy eyes and PRETEND to think about it.

He also falls asleep in the weirdest positions. He likes to sleep all jumbled up and, preferably, leaning on someone.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re sitting here. *I* want to sleep here. I’ll just scoot in behind you.”

What amazes me is that he can actually sleep like that. But he does. For looooooong periods of time. He also falls asleep right in the middle of stuff….stuff like, licking himself. : /

But he’s adorable and has that new puppy smell and we’re so glad he’s here! Even Poe…sorta. He’s pretty much just tolerating him at this point. I get the sense that’s he’s perpetually thinking, “You’re no Rufus, bub. Don’t get too cozy.” –but he’s at least tolerating him and all his puppy frenetic energy — for now.

Puppy breath and wild, reckless energy. That’s what we signed up for. And we couldn’t be happier.

Would you just LOOK at him? Who couldn’t love a face like that?

We didn’t even know he was sick. One day he was fine. Just his normal, fluffy self. The next he was hanging on for dear life, ill, with a mysterious ailment, defying diagnosis. Not knowing what was wrong, we didn’t know how to fix it. We tried. We really did. We put everything into it. We devoted time, money, hours of conversation, and more than a few tears to the cause. We fought the good fight. We did the best we could.

But in the end, it wasn’t enough. Tonight, — ah, God, tonight he went into respiratory failure and his little heart stopped beating. He just gave up and went on to the next phase. Whatever that might be. Rufus was never one to obsess. He was tenacious and loyal to the core, but he was never that big into prolonging the inevitable. “Fuck it, I’ll move on.” That about sums up Rufus and how he went through life.

We all went to see him, visit him in the E.R. We took turns petting and talking and giving him scratches. I kissed his little forehead. Told him I loved him. I turned and walked away. We didn’t know it would be the last time. We didn’t know!

He wasn’t supposed to die. He wasn’t supposed to! He was just going to be transferred to a place with all night care and — and that’s it. Then he was supposed to keep getting better and then come home. Instead, this crazy doctor called me and said he just died. Died! As in, he’s not around anymore. As in, I’m never, ever going to see him again. WTF is up with that?

Rufus- you had to know Rufus, to get Rufus. My sister, upon meeting him, dubbed him the marshmallow man. She said he looked like a big, fat marshmallow with four toothpicks for legs. And I suppose he did. He was actually deceptively deft for his big size. He could run. He could throw down.

But he just didn’t see the need in doing it all the time, just because it could be done. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, is the point. He would take all-comers, and usually, he would win. He basically just did as he pleased.

Which isn’t to say that he was hard-headed. Oh, no. He was so smart. He was this little genius with a personality bigger than life. He was very well-behaved. Trustworthy. Fiercely, fiercely loyal.

Sometimes we called him gramps, or grampa. It was all because of the little spots of white that flecked his black chin. And his curmudgeonly attitude. He was kind and sweet and gentle. But he was no pushover. If you pushed him too far he would snarl a nasty warning at you, bare his teeth a little. And you would deserve it too. He doesn’t go around tugging on your fur or trying to ride you. Have some respect for the elderly. And get off his lawn. He didn’t like people he didn’t recognize anywhere near his lawn.

Knocks on the door would drive him into a frenzy. Not a crazy-making frenzy, just a “look at me! i’m making noise! warning! warning! danger!” kind of frenzy. He would bark and snarl and run back and forth across the house — and then suddenly stop. There was no method really, to his madness. He just wanted it to be known that someone approaches! Here they are! They’re at the door! Do something! and then he would stop. Go about his business. It was only worth wasting his time as long as he thought there was a threat. If no one else was freaking out, he certainly wasn’t going to go through the trouble. Walls, too. you could fall against a wall, put your hand out to steady yourself, and in the process, make the slightest little noise with your hand making contact with the wall and Rufus would be off with his little script. “look at me! i’m making noise! warning! warning! danger!” annnnd SCENE! Take five!

Which isn’t to say that Rufus wasn’t also brave. Because he was. Comically so. If he perceived any danger to any of us, he was instantly the Chuck Norris of the canine world. If Matt was rough housing with the boys, Rufus would drive himself mad trying to figure out whose side he was on. His loyalty ran so damn deep.

He was so patient and long suffering. He would tolerate Poe jumping around like a banshee fleabag – trying to get him to play. Rufus would throw him a bone, wrestle and thrash about for a few minutes, and then revert to sentinel-like stillness. Poe would nip at his ears and wonder how it was a dog could manage to actually sit still for a minute. Poe’s energy and hyper-doofiness never seemed to bother him. He just took it in good stride and protected him like Poe was his giant little brother.

You knew when he was happy to see you. He was always happy to see you. His eyes would light up and that tail would start wagging like a propeller jet, taking off. I read a quote recently. I don’t remember who said it. “A Dog is the only creature who has already seen his God.” That’s how you felt when you looked at Rufus in the eyes. He was just so honored to be a part of it, just so pleased you had chosen him. There was real, naked honesty and devotion in those eyes. He loved Matt. God, that dog loved him so much. He was his morning star and his evening moon. He was first a bachelor’s dog and he carried that badge proudly. And Matt loved him. Rufus got him through some dark times in his life. He was his best friend. He was so proud of him. Proud of how smart he was. How well-behaved. He was proud of his personality, his ability to win anyone over. I grieve for him, too. I know this is so hard on him.

He cleaned out his dog dish. Put his bed out in the garage. He mourned the loss. Mourns it still. I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t get it to sink in.

Rufus would put out all four paws when Matt tried to put him in water. He loathed it. It was like watching a cartoon, Matt gallantly pushing Rufus towards the water and Rufus frantically clawing for purchase at the walls, trying to stop himself going in. Water was for drinking, not frolicking. Tongues were for cleaning, not tubs.

He loved food. He stayed under my feet in the kitchen, despite my repeated pleas to have him “go lay down” or “go play in traffic”. He paid me no never mind and assumed I was only joking. Which I was. Because the next meal he would be right back, tripping me and my pan full of dinner, hoping for a morsel. If I so much as said the word “treat” in, any context, his tail would wag and his mouth would open in stark anticipation.

Matt’s family loved him to pieces. My family fell in love with him, too. He was a hard dog not to love.

He had the memory of an elephant and a heart as big as this whole damn world. He was, at his worst, better than most humans at their best. He was sweet and thoughtful, laying at your side in silent vigil when you felt ill or down. He was kind and gentle. He was brave and proud. He was as sober as a judge and as goofy as they come. He had black specks on his pink tongue and a million dollar smile.

The crying hasn’t stopped. It still goes on. Will go on for quite sometime, I imagine. I go to feed Poe and notice the empty spot where his dish used to be, and it hits me all over again. Matt goes into the laundry room and sees all his things, his immunization record, his leashes, his shampoo and brush – all things he would no longer need- in a box in the cupboard. He’s speechless and his eyes are the saddest things I have ever seen. The boys are walking around with tear-stained eyes – not too common a sight when they hit thirteen and fourteen. They are shell shocked and devastated.

People will say, “he was just a dog.” They don’t understand. He was our dog. He was a member of our family. He was one of us. And now he’s gone forever. We’re grateful he’s not suffering anymore, but we are so, so sorry he had to go.

Rest in peace, Roofie Doo. We love you and miss you.

This is President Bush:

This is Poe:

President Bush:

Poe:

Maybe the kid is on to something?

he does that a lot. he just sits and stares at you. for long, long periods of time. i wonder what he’s thinking about. sometimes i think he’s thinking,

“ah, there she is. my great and benevolent new mistress. she’s so beautiful and kind. she’s gentle and sweet with tender hands that scratch me just so behind my ears. i like the way she fills my bowl every morning and always makes sure i have clean, fresh water. sometimes she’ll even give me some canned food. matt never does that. she also gives me treats. more often than matt. he thinks i’m too fat and lazy. oh the heartache. but she doesn’t care. she likes me just the way i am. she risks his wrath just to give me a a doggie biscuit. ah, i love her so.”

that’s what i’d like to think he’s thinking when he sits and stares at me for literally hours at a time like that.

but this is probably more accurate:

“i hate you. you harlot. you unfeeling bitch. you home wrecker. i had matt all to myself before you came along. it was just the two of us and did we need you? no! we were doing just fine. then you sauntered in with your fancy dinner making and made him think he couldn’t live off of ramen noodles and dr. pepper aloneforever and ensnared him in your web of deceit. you and your laundry cleaning and your wily womanly charms. now i have to share him. he hardly ever has time for me anymore. guess what i’m doing? right now? i’m planning your death. i’m plotting your demise. and it won’t be pretty either. you won’t die quickly. you won’t go easy. i’ll make sure you die slowly and painfully, begging for mercy the way you make me beg for those crappy dog biscuits you seem to think i enjoy so much. oh yes. there will be bloodshed. you won’t know when and you won’t know how, but it will come. it will come.

or, you know, maybe he’s just thinking, “cookie?”

just love it.

Dog Haiku

I love my master;
Thus I perfume myself with
This long-rotten squirrel.

I lie belly-up
In the sunshine, happier than
You ever will be

Today I sniffed
Many dog butts-I celebrate
By kissing your face.

I sound the alarm!
Paperboy-come to kill us all-
Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!

I sound the alarm!
Mailman Fiend-come to kill us all-
Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!

I sound the alarm!
Meter reader-come to kill all-
Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!

I sound the alarm!
Garbage man-come to kill us all-
Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!

I sound the alarm!
Neighbor’s cat-come to kill us all!
Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!

I lift my leg and
Wiz on each bush. Hello, Spot -
Sniff this and weep

How do I love thee?
The ways are numberless as
My hairs on the rug.

My human is home!
I am so ecstatic I have
Made a puddle

I hate my choke chain -
Look, world, they strangle me! Ack
Ack Ack Ack Ack Ack!

Sleeping here, my chin
On your foot – no greater bliss – well,
Maybe catching cats

Look in my eyes and
Deny it. No human could
Love you as much I do

The cat is not all
Bad-she fills the litter box
With Tootsie Rolls

Dig under fence-why?
Because it’s there. Because it’s
There. Because it’s there.

I am your best friend,
Now, always, and especially
When you are eating.

You may call them fleas,
But they are far more – I call
Them a vocation

My owners’ mood is
Romantic – I lie near their
Feet. I fart a big one.

it was my fault. i called him home from across the street. he saw me and a look of recognition sprang to his face. my dog always recognizes me, of course. but sometimes he chooses to pretend. to turn away and continue his play. but not just then. then his ears turned up and he sprang to attention. eager to come in. maybe for a treat. maybe to have his rump scratched. maybe he was just bored with outside.

i hate that road. cars race by like they have somewhere to be. like boredom is chasing them and boredom is death and the accelerator holds the key. there’s a 35 mph sign or two dotting the country road but it’s mostly a form of amusement. something for people to mark how much over the speed limit they happen to be driving. the oncoming truck didn’t see his black coat in the dark night. i saw the impact of the bumper against his head and the scream from my mouth went around the block and back again and reached my ears, startling me. i wondered who screamed and why. when i realized it was me i opened the screen door and ran back inside, hiding. i fell against it and cried and refused to go back out. if i didn’t go back outside it didn’t happen. if i didn’t go back outside i could shut out the sight of his body flying in the night, the whimper of his pain. the scraping of his claws on asphalt.

the neighbor who came running had also heard my scream and he pounded at the door at my back, demanding satisfaction. where is tragedy? where is emergency? what warrants a scream in the night time? i’m here. enlighten me. i opened the door and fell into his arms. wrecked and sobbing. incoherent. “he’s dead. he’s dead.” was all i could say.

by then a small group had gathered. other neighbors. also demanding satisfaction. i looked for pitchforks and torches. nothing binds a community like tragedy close to home. nothing brings us closer, makes us feel important. nothing makes us feel better about ourselves and nothing, nothing makes us happier to be who we are and not the other guy. for once.

we searched the road. the grass. the ditches and the fields. country people consider a dog a worthwhile endeavor. the truck was long gone. my dog was a speed bump in his race to the finish line.

jim, the handy neighbor found him first. he had managed to crawl up the back deck to my house, broken and bleeding. he wobbled and whimpered and there was no light in his eyes. i ran to him and covered him with my body. his blood saturated my clothes. my tears saturated his coat. jim looked away. embarrassed. you can only take this thing so far.

since the accident he acts like something was knocked loose in his head. he’s a smart dog. he knows come. and sit. he’ll shake your hand and lay down when you say. it’s not that he’s not a smart dog. but he sits and stares for long periods of time like he’s stuck on something. something he can’t quite figure out.

my dog lies at full length on the tiled floor and follows small shadows with his eyes. he stalks them like living things and tries to cover them with his paws. he’s got the saddest eyes of anything on the planet. and when he rests his head in my lap i feel my heart breaking. my heart shatters and breaks and gets made whole again.

another thing: he can’t stand to be alone.

a man told me once i had a hard face. “you’re not ugly” he said, “you’ve just got such a hard face. like you’re angry and agitated.” and that cut me quick. to the core. i’d rather be ugly. someone else: “you always sound so happy. on the phone.” as if to imply that the reality of me in person is a disappointment. i sound happy as a disembodied voice from miles away. but in person i sound sad and bitter. angry and disconsolate. perhaps i am. me and my hard face. i try not to be. i don’t want to be. people see you this way. but you don’t feel it to be true. how do you show people you’re not who they think you are when your face and actions betray you? and why do you even care?

when i look at my dog it all melts away. i feel no anger. my face is not hard. i feel all of me go soft and happy. a dog has no expectations of your emotions. he hopes for food. requires fresh water. he would like his rump to be scratched. nobody ever said, “i drink because my dog just doesn’t ever understand me.”

he steals chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter and doesn’t like to come inside until he’s good and ready and i try to be cross with him, but it’s impossible. those eyes turn up at me and anger is unknown to me, a foreign concept as alien as a fifth limb. i can’t feel it.

they have a ritual pet adoption at the pet store. my son drags me along because he likes to pet the animals through their cages. he has such a nimble laugh. once a month on a saturday the local no kill shelter trots out the residents, freshly bathed and hopeful. they xerox fact sheets. they pray for benevolent patrons. i never understood holding adoption drives at pet stores. people who patronize pet stores already have pets. hope springs eternal. i approached the cages and the wind was knocked out of me. “i can’t do this, i can’t do this. i have to leave.” i told him. then i stood up and fled. i told him he could stay. he could stay and poke his fingers through the bars and pet them, he could talk to them. he could browse. but i couldn’t. they weren’t green bananas. they weren’t sofa love seats.

i shopped for chew toys while he petted and when he was done the pimple-faced cashier avoided eye contact while i cried.

my dog has a home and when i come into it he restrains himself from jumping on me, though it requires restraint almost greater than he possesses. his whole body quakes and tremors and his rump goes into spasms, begging for a scratch. he buries his head in my legs and the light in his eyes could start a small forest fire. everyone in their life should have someone that happy to see them. everyone should feel that. a heart near bursting with happiness at the very sight of you. would that you were worth it.

there are whole moments in my life i can look back, point, and say, “there. that moment. that’s when i was punishing myself for something. i was meaning to cause myself pain.”

every one of those dogs was a moment. an inscrutable exercise in self-flagellation.

i’m not one of those people you look at and say, “oh. she’s one of those people.” the kind of person who would dress her dog in a matching sweater and buy him expensive diamond-studded collars. he doesn’t sleep on a palatial bed of satin and velvet and eat only gourmet dog food. i don’t refer to him as my “third son”. none of that. i’ve never done any of that with any of my dogs.

but still, i’ve grown to love them. in little ways. and big. i’ve grown accustomed to them. their presence and existence becomes something i grow to rely on. and so it goes and so it goes.

like when i was a kid in south carolina in the rain. i’d run to my bed and jump under the covers to listen to the thunder outside. the best times i can remember are hiding there with the windows open, the curtains blowing and the thunder crackling outside. i’d hide under my blanket with my dog of the moment and smell the fresh, wet air outside beating a path indoors. some dogs would be scared of the noise and they would bury their heads in the blankets. some would find it amusing and cock their heads at a funny angle to get a grasp on what was happening. some would howl in harmony with the chaos outside, causing my dad to blow a gasket and yell at the thunder, the dog and the whole world to just shut up.

i didn’t go around killing my dogs. in case you’re wondering. i know it sounds like that, but i just didn’t. i had bad luck is all. i loved dogs. love them. there’s something so sweet and happy about a dog. most of them. sure there’s some nasty ones who would just rather tear your face off than look at you, but you probably had it coming. most dogs are sweet and pure and only want to sleep and eat and play and shit and pee and eat some more and make you happy. that’s about it. quite simple, really. if only everything was so simple. the world would be such a better place for it. but it’s not to be. so what can you do? but my luck with them is just horrid. i’ve gone through so many dogs in my lifetime it should be a crime. a dog sees me comin’ he should just turn the other way. say, “i’ll have no truck with you, missus so just keep movin’”. because i can bring them nothing but misery.

i’ve had dogs stolen and poisoned. i’ve had dogs hit by cars and tractors. i’ve had dogs die on operating tables and giving birth. i’ve had dogs die of old age and illnesses. you name it, it’s happened to one of my dogs. and my parents just kept replacing them. one after the other. “what? fluffy was killed in a freak terrorist accident in which the odds were a million and one against!? well. the only thing to remedy that is ANOTHER DOG!” and so that’s just what they did. bless em.

so i grew up and moved out and vowed not to have another dog again as long as i lived. so great was my pain with each loss. which worked up until about the time i met my boyfriend who would become my husband who would become my ex-husband who would also be a dog lover who would think it would be a GREAT idea if we got a dog together. and so we did. because a) i am spineless and b) i am a masochist.

so we went through 3 dogs together during our brief and horrific marriage and we got a divorce and because all the dogs died while we were still married, we didn’t have to worry about custody of a canine during the proceedings. we did, however, have two children to contend with.

having two children of course, and both of them being boys, means having two guilt factories who will pretty much die if they don’t have a puppy to play with. and thus continues my lifelong pattern of sadistic animal torture.

enter: POE. who, okay, he’s adorable. can i just be honest with you? we all say that. our dog is the cutest. the best behaved. our kids are the most special. handsome. prettiest. smartest. whatever. we all know it’s a crock of shit. there are kids out there cuter. smarter. way better at soccer. and i’m sure there’s dogs out there who could model for alpo. sure. but come on. this is a seriously fuckin’ adorable dog. THIS DOG IS FAR AND AWAY THE CUTEST. and he’s so sweet. he’s like a big tub of lard kneaded with powdered sugar. and the way he looks at you sometimes. when he cocks his head to the side and raises his eyes? he’s looking at you like he’s trying to figure things out and maybe? also? do you have a cookie for him? it’s so damn cute you just want to bash his skull in. even when he’s being bad he’s sending out these waves. these signals that say, “look. i’m being bad right now. i know this. you know this. but i’m not trying to be. i’m still a puppy and i haven’t figured it all out and i’m way hyper with all this energy that i don’t know what to do with and plus you haven’t been paying much attention to me today and aw geez look what i’ve gone and done and i’m real sorry and also? maybe? do you have a cookie for me?” and it’s all you can do not to just squeeze his face off. or something. and even though he’s like twelve feet tall and he weighs 90 lbs, he comes and lays on top of you on the bed because he knows you’re sick and you can tell he feels bad that you feel bad and he just wants to make you feel better and he’s got this sad look on his face and he’s just killing you, killing you with that look and then, suddenly, you do start to feel better and you’re just all like, “wtf, this dog is crazy! get off of me you ox!” but you don’t mean it cause you feel better.

and then it hits you that he’ll probably die soon. and if not soon then one day. eventually. and you sort of wish you didn’t love him so much. but you can’t help it.

but i guess that’s the way it is with everything. you can’t take it back once it’s out there.