Chaucer Dog Blog

Canterpuppy Tails

[chaucerdog]

Paws For Thought

Mom has decided it's time to bring a dog into the house again.  She's been mourning yours furly for almost a year now.  She still is, dear reader. How could she not miss as incredible a four-legged companion as me?  And I taught her so much, I am certain that Mom will be an even better parent than before.  I'll be there in spirit to guide her, of course.

[chaucerdog]

Remembering

Mom just realized that it was a year ago today that she first noticed the small lump on my side.  She wants to remind all of you with fur-children to check them often.

[chaucerdog]

Making an Impression

Sometimes there are things that occur in movies that make mom say, "oh come on, that would never happen in real life."  But I was able to prove her wrong on many such occasion, dear reader.  After all, good storytelling DOES have an element of surprise.

Fur example:  the wet concrete.

Our neighbor had paid professionals to come in and lay a new sidewalk where the tree had cracked it between our houses.  Mom had gone in half with him and oversaw as he used a stick to write the year in the wet slurry to preserve the moment.  She put leaves in the cement so it would match the rest of the sidewalk, dotted with fossil-traces of vegetation long since rotted.  I watched.  I was not invited to participate.  Until mom got a great idea, likely born of cinematic romanticism dominated by Lassies and Benjis and Rin Tin Tins.  "Let's put Chaucer's paw print in the cement!"

However, this idea was only relayed to me in the loosest of terms.  Mom let me out of the house and we started for the cement… And that's when  I saw our neighbor, who I have deep admiration for (in no small part because he knows that good dogs like me should be given cookies over the fence whenever we meet).  I bolted toward him, ready for some ear rubs and the obligatory cookie reception...

And I ran RIGHT THROUGH the wet concrete.  Like Marmaduke.  Like Beethoven. Like Odie.  The oldest gag in the book and mom didn't see it coming.  And, by the way, these weren't the delicate paw prints of a dog on wet concrete.  These were the galumphing holes of a dog IN wet concrete.  The neighbor was yelling, "no no no!"  And mom was hollering, "Chaucer!"  And I was starting to think, "why is this ground so squishy?"

We did a lot of scrubbing that day.  And when all was said and done, and the workers called back to fix the concrete, and the surface deceptively smooth once again, Mom tried to get me to lightly stamp my paw in it.  No way, no how.  I wasn't going near that stuff again.

Which is why there is no paw print in our concrete, but also why mom has this unbelievable story.  And if you think about it, it's a far better souvenir.

[chaucerdog]

Argus

The kitchen is very big.

A trash can leans against the dog door, a path once fire-marshal-clear.

A plate of cookies on the counter, no threat to their immediate and complete consumption in sight.

Squirrels play tag in the yard.  One stops, tail bobbing, ears twitching in alarm, only to sink back to all four paws in the realization that the threat is an old scent, a memory of a fear.

There is no fur to gather, cobweb-like, on the snarls and snags of the wood furniture.

The mailman passes without announcement.

The family has lost their rhythm. Like a skipping record, they know what needs to be done, but the absence of a step leaves them standing still, perplexed.

Nobody walks anymore.

It is no one's turn to pick up the yard.

The rain brings in mud and leaves, but there is no shaping of pawprints. The mess is the family's own.  Perhaps it always was.

The cats parade on the front porch.

He sees all this.  He watches intangibly.  He knows their pain, their loss, their confusion, and how life never stops to take notice or consideration of those living it.  He will stand guard.  There are more than squirrels, mailmen, and cats to keep at bay.

[chaucerdog]

Mom had no idea how much I used to help at Thanksgiving.  At the end of this year's cooking, her floor was a mess!  Normally, I'd be at her side, helpfully disposing of whatever scrap happened to fall my way.  She even still hesitated before picking up the fallen tidbits -- expecting me to be waiting for her "okay" command for operation Floor Suction.  

Mom's guests felt my absence too.  It's a lot harder to dispose of that charred bread roll with nobody looking when there isn't a helpful wet nose hiding nearby under the table.  And when people knocked, there was nobody to announce their presence in dulcet, woofing tones.

Grandpa picked up my ashes a few weeks ago.  Mom hasn't even unpacked the bag the whole ensemble came in -- every time she looks at the plaster paw print they took, she starts crying.  She still talks to me, and told me that the hardest part is that my box seems so small.  And I was always so big and present.  She keeps imagining what I would be doing at any given moment.  Where I would be sprawled watching while she cooked, how I would accompany her to check on the chickens, how I'd lean in to peek into every grocery bag she carried into the house.  

Today Mom was thinking about how I used to bound over when she said the word "come."  Every time, she said, it was like I was surprised and overjoyed to be asked over.  I'd smile, and trot or bound, and nearly collide as I came to touch my nose to Mom's outstretched hand.  When I was younger, I wasn't quite as refined in my approach, and I actually once knocked Mom completely over when I came running.  I hadn't discovered my brakes yet, you see.  As we both spent more time together, I learned to slow and Mom learned to whirl like a Matador to make sure she didn't get t-boned upon my approach.

I think Christmas is going to be hard for Mom.  There's my stocking to see, and the caroler dog Grandma bought for our set last year, and so many memories of me helping decorate.  I was very good about leaving the tree alone, but when Mom unwrapped each ornament, I assisted by picking up the tissue paper and carrying it around as a prize.  I always gave it gently back when asked.  Still, I don't know why my people always got so excited about the ornaments.  The tissue was the real prize -- it smelled like years of Christmases, and it was all different colors, and super-soft from years of packaging and re-packaging.

Last Christmas, Mom sent out a card of me with Santa.  I look so healthy there, so impossibly well that it's very hard for Mom to comprehend that I'm gone now.  It's a reminder of how short, strange and precious life can be.  It hurts her to think we won't do any more pictures like that.  She forgets I'm gone for a second when she sees our Golden Retriever Rescue group post about a Christmas-pup event.

Mom tells me a lot that she misses me.  It happens at unpredictable moments.  Getting the mail when she turns to remind me to stay inside.  In the backyard a lot.  When she's doing laundry and drops a sock.  She printed a lot of my photos to share with friends and family, but she's having a hard time getting to the mailing them part.  

It's all going to take time, Mom.  Be patient -- even I didn't learn all my tricks in one day.

[chaucerdog]

I'm Not Gone

Not really.  Well, I suppose really in the physical, resting my muzzle on Mom's arm way.  But not in the spiritual, metaphysical sense.  And being such a distinguished author as yours furly, why can't I have a bit of poetic dog license?

I am here because frankly, Mom needs me.  She's really not getting on well without my reassuring presence.  The squirrels are overrunning the backyard.  Yesterday, a cat(!) had the gall to sit on our porch.  And the newspapers are stacking up.   Mom is considering canceling her subscription.  I never realized how much of the paper ritual was about me doing my job and not really about reading anything.  Now that I think about it, an awful lot of those newspapers went into the recycle bin still folded.

Mom also needs to know that I am here in her heart.  When she blames herself for what happened (people can be so silly sometimes!  As if you could control nature's cycle!), or when she comes home looking for me and I'm not there.  Or when she sits on the porch crying because the UPS Lady (my treat-delivering love) isn't yet aware of my passing and still leaves an uneaten biscuit.  I'm here, Mom.  You could almost feel my cold nose bopping your arm.  And hear my grunt as I lay down next to you.  And see my tail going helicopter circles.

And if you'd permit me a bit of a brag, dear reader, I'm still here because I've made Mom a better person. I made her appreciate long sits in the sun in the backyard without thinking about anything except maybe snapping lazily at a butterfly (perhaps that last bit was more me than her, but still).  I made her live in the moment instead of worrying in circles like a puppy with a tug-toy.  I made her smile more.  And that is why I am the most sad to not be near in physical form, because I see she misses me and I would never want her to feel sad, or guilty, or lonely.  It's against the Golden code (which was put into being much around the time of the Magna Carta, even though the breed wasn't around yet.  How's that for planning?).

I don't miss you, Mom.  Because you're not gone to miss!  We dogs have mastered the thing only certain, enlightened humans seem to -- that we are all part of each other, for all time.  Once our souls have touched, the bond is there.  You need only to close your eyes in the sun and know I am near.  Or to help another dog in my name.  Or to run at the squirrels, barking madly.  (I saw you do it.  You thought nobody was looking.  Thanks for keeping up appearances for me.)

I love you, Mom.  And I'm here always.  Even if I'm not here, here...I'm where it matters most.

[chaucerdog]

[chaucerdog]

Rainbow Bridge

I am running fast

I am running free

There is no pain in my paws

No sickness in my tummy

My fur is long and shines in the sun

My eyes are bright

I smile and taste thousands of scents in the air

My tail is my drumbeat

My heart holds the song

I am loved

I am love

I am joy

I am free

[chaucerdog]

The Greatest Trick Ever

Thanks to my erudite nature, I am a genius when it comes to tricks.  And perhaps not so modest, dear reader, but can you blame me?  I graduated top of my Advanced Obedience class and while part of this is actually due to the fact that hotdogs are incredible motivators, it is also true that I love showing off my abilities.  Some of the tricks I know include:

-Sit

-Stay

-Shake, both hands

-High five, both hands

-Leave it

-Leave it and walk over it to Mom

-Heel (with turns and abouts)

-Lay down

-Long stay

-Come

-Stop/Halt

-Crawl

-Play dead

-Roll over

-Say my prayers

-Spin

-Jump back

-Bow

-Get the paper

-Drop it

-"Snarf" (basically, sniff to find a hidden treat)

-Find it

-Where's "" (insert family member or toy name here)

-Pick it up

-Touch (high and low)

-Tummy up (also known as "where's my tum?")

-Wait

-Bed (the command for get on anything)

-Beg

And probably a few more I'm forgetting right now.  

But yesterday Mom asked me to do a trick I didn't think I could.  She told me "stay," but she meant longer than even a long stay.  She meant "stay with me and don't cross the rainbow bridge."  I licked her hand.  She knows she's asking too much, but you can't blame her.  She's only human.  She hasn't had nearly as much obedience training as yours truly.

[chaucerdog]

Mom is such a soft touch...

She's taking me back to my favorite hotel this weekend.  I won't be able to run much on the beach, but I will feel the sand in my toes and eat my favorite dinner at the dog restaurant.

[chaucerdog]

Mom apologizes for not typing my musings up for you all.  She's been under some real work deadlines and so most of her typing is for other people.  But never fear, I keep sticking my nose over her laptop and closing it to let her know I mean business.  

So while Mom is twenty-pound-bag-of-kibbles deep in "work," here is another picture to celebrate the season.  

[chaucerdog]

Hi Chaucer! I just found your blog and I really do love it. I hope my puppy turns out to be as loving and smart as you. Tell your mom to give you a belly rub and a treat from me, okay?

Thanks for reading!  (And for the prompting of the much-needed TLC from Mom!)  *happy wags*

[chaucerdog]

Things I Hate

We've already encompassed the world of things I love, and so I thought it might be worth rhapsodizing about the topics that make my fur stand on end.  Some things have migrated off this list since I have grown up -- medicine being one of them.  It's true, the mere shaking of a pill bottle used to make me seek cover underneath the table (where Mom obviously can't see me, because I can't see her). However, now that I know that medicine comes in peanut butter, all my previous-life notions of the scariness of pills have been banished.  That said, here is my current list of odium, in no particular order:

1. Cats.  I don't so much hate them -- it's simply that they fill me with an indignant rage when they're in my backyard.  I am forced to run out and growl at them.  In fact, if mom even says the word "cats," I am up and growling.  Who do those feline interlopers think they are?!

2. Sprinklers. Dear reader, there is nothing worse than being randomly sprayed by water, especially when it can pop out of the ground (!) at a moment's notice.  Nothing could be more disconcerting, except perhaps prairie dogs with squirt guns, which would have the same effect.

3. Ear drops.  Simply not a fan.  They don't smell good, and then Mom has to clean my ears, and that's just not fun for anyone.  Back under the table.

4. Anything to do with my paws.  Cleaning between my toes, trimming my toes, trimming my paw pads, painting my nails (this has never actually happened but I can assure you I would not like it).  My feet are just that, MINE.  And while I'll tolerate Mom doing these things, I try to make it as clear as possible that I'm not a huge fan.

5.  Hugs.  You humans and your hugs!  Again, I will tolerate this with the simplest of licked lips to show my displeasure.  I know you mean it in a nice way, Mom.  But couldn't you just give me a nice belly rub instead?  Okay, okay.  Hug away.  Grumble.

6. Dog Parks.  I am ashamed to admit this, but apparently my hind quarters are especially attractive to other dogs, of both sexes.  This results in a whole lot of mounting behavior whenever I am at a dog park.  How rude, really!  And when I can shake off my amorous pursuer and hide behind Mom, the next form of interaction at these so-called-recreational-areas is barking and nipping.  What is the fun in nipping?!  And barking?  Well, that leads us to the next topic...

7. Loud noises.  When I was younger, my uncoordinated paw-slides on the wood floor often sent me tumbling into something Mom refers to as the CO2 detector.  When jostled, this seemingly innocuous piece of technology would produce a horrible, high-pitched sound.  I would run to Mom and cower in her lap, which made it a lot harder for her to plug it back in and avoid the hideous screeching.  I don't like being barked at (Mom thinks I wasn't socialized at a young age, so I don't actually know what is being said or expected of me.  But I think it's just rude.)

All that said, I think I am a pretty easy-going dog.  If I think of more rage-provoking items, I will be sure to return and share them here!

[chaucerdog]

Kisses!

[chaucerdog]

Pawspice

Today the Vet told Mom that the Kemo isn't working anymore.  So we're going into pawspice mode.  I'm quitting the medicines, and I'm going to spend the next month eating hamburger every night.  Mom is sad, so I am going to make sure I am by her side the whole time.  And I'll keep writing about my adventures so I'm by your side too, dear reader.

[chaucerdog]

This is from a couple Halloweens ago.

[chaucerdog]

Calendar Dog

Guess what?  My photo was accepted in the Southern California Golden Retriever Rescue Calendar for 2014!  That's the group of incredibly nice humans that helped Mom adopt me.  I'm one of the daily photos for the month of October, looking pawsitively scary in my red devil costume.  (What is it with Mom and costumes?!)  If you want, you can order it here and enjoy me all year 'round.  Like Mom does!

http://www.ebay.com/itm/2014-SOUTHERN-CALIFORNIA-GOLDEN-RETRIEVER-RESCUE-CALENDAR-/171136824496?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item27d88cb4b0