Food for thought

Since he joined our family, Rubin has been a challenge. Not a bad one, just testing our patience (mine in particular) and posing problems we never thought we'd have to deal with. The main problem has been his inconsistent eating habits.

I've never had a dog who didn't like to eat, but Rubin is the most particular and finicky dog I've ever met. A whole bowl of the most expensive canned food will be set in front of him, he'll sniff it then walk away. From another room I can hear his stomach growl from hunger, still he won't eat. I'll offer a treat and sometimes he'll take it, but if he's particularly hungry, he won't touch it.

He also struggles with what I call intestinal distress. I won't go into details, but after getting up late at night to take a anxious dog outside to do his runny business, I'll take him to the vet whereupon I find out he has neither parasites or giardia just an upset tummy. Prescription? Rice, boiled chicken, cottage cheese, and pumpkin.

He won't eat it.

This last time his intestinal distress lasted over a week, which was unusual. The vet prescribed doggy pepto and antibiotics. In addition, I was supposed to give him "flora" in his food -- a brown powdery substance that came in expensive packets. But how was I supposed to give it to him if he refused to eat?

I took to stuffing globs of food into his mouth until he swallowed. As you can imagine, a battle ensued. I'd fix his food, he'd run to the other room. I'd encourage him to eat and he'd race upstairs fearing I'd force food into his mouth. The weird thing is that once he ate that first shoved in mouthful, he'd eat. It was like his little brain said, "Hey, that tastes pretty good. Who knew I was so hungry?"

Still, we have this psychological battle going. Ann tried feeding him, but he'd only eat if I weren't in the room or if I left his food out while I went to work and he could eat alone and in peace. But mostly, he wouldn't eat.

He'll eat when other dogs were at the house though. He'll watch them devour their food, wait for them to finish, and then put his face in his bowl and finally eat what's served. We talked about getting another dog just to help him out, but realized another mouth to feed wasn't the best idea with our busy schedules.

The final solution was to make his food. I balked at this because I didn't want to be "one of those" kind of dog owners who was over the top spoiling my dog more than I might a child. But he needed to eat and I needed to figure out a way to get him to eat.

Through some research and an accidental contact with a woman who teaches classes on cooking for your dog, I found a recipe that seemed simple enough -- ground meat (beef or chicken or lamb or pork or bison), grated fruits and vegetables, flax seed oil, turmeric (yep!) and some liquid acidophilus. I mixed up a batch of what I called Canine Hamburger Helper and what do you know, he ate.

Like a Lab. Voraciously, enthusiastically, and hungrily...like he hadn't eaten ever before in his life. I felt relief. My dog wouldn't starve to death and he had an appetite. No more force feeding, no more coaxing with sprinkled cheese or exotic dog treats.

Of course this morning, I'm sitting here waiting for him to eat and he's not. Ann says I worry about it too much and that makes him nervous. She's most likely right, but I still find it frustrating. I guess that's my life lesson -- learning to let go of the things I can't control. Leave it to Rubin to provide me with another chance to work on my issues.

He does that a lot -- reflects back what I need to learn. I always say you don't get the dog you want you get the dog you need and Rubin is proving that in spades. I need to relax more. I need to learn to let things go and not stress out about them. I need to slow down. I need to be kinder to myself and allow myself breaks. All of my "issues" are reflected back to me through him. The only thing I can do is take a deep breath and learn patience -- not with him, but with myself.

That's a hard lesson and one I've been trying to learn for most of my life. Still I have to give him kudos for trying to teach me. He's a brave little boy to take me on as a student. I sure wish he could see that he'll need more nutritional strength if he's going to meet this challenge.

And in the background as I type, I hear him sigh deeply and with an edge of exasperation as if to say, "Who's the challenge?"

Coming Back

Right now I'm sitting at my friends' computer at her house in Port Townsend. I haven't been back to PT in two years and I have mixed emotions about it. We drove in yesterday and were happy to see the skies clearing and the sun trying to make an appearance. It was good to leave the rain of Seattle behind, but there is so much more to a place than the weather.

I lived in PT for 17 years. 8 years ago I left and moved to Seattle. Those are the surface facts. The deeper details are a tangled web much of which I can't and maybe don't want to recall. But when I return here, especially after a significant absence, I am overwhelmed by the subdivision of my feelings. That's the best way I can describe it -- distinct plots of emotions and memories as neatly laid out as a housing project.

In one plot is the history of my relationships here. I had many friends in PT, but now it's winnowed down to just two with whom I stay in contact. Ironically, those are two people I met right before I left PT and while they keep me informed about all my other friends, I find it odd that when I come back to visit, I end up visiting them and not everyone else.

In another plot is my life on the farm -- the long-term relationship that held me here for longer than I should have stayed. I am reluctant to explore this acreage in any depth because it all seems so long ago and while important in the development of who I am now, I don't want to expend the energy. So when we drove by the road that lead to the old house yesterday, I glanced but had no desire to take a look. Some plots are best left unattended.

Then there's the plot of my teaching career that includes the students I worked with as well as all the teachers I've known. Last night some of those teachers were here and it was good to catch up -- to survey that plot again -- and realize I am still remembered. We also ran into a couple of former students, which is always a little awkward because I can't always remember their names or their personalities. Still they smile, we exchange a bit of history, and then I can move on holding a bit of that past in my back pocket.

There is the plot of new friends some of whom were here last night as well. I like the merging of those boundaries -- old friends introducing me to new people and then establishing my own relationship with people I didn't know while I lived here. And then there are the acquaintances who I sort of knew many years ago, who are friends with some of my older friends. They are like a web of connection through which I can pass on well wishes to those people I don't see anymore.

Of course there is the plot of gossip and after a late night of dinner and visiting, to settle down with the three last remaining friends to talk about who is dating whom, where so and so is working, and how much weight everyone has gained or lost is a nice indulgence. I feel as if I don't really have to put forth the energy to visit those plots because I catch up through the eyes of others.

The most significant plot to me, though, is not the people or the memories or the stories. It's the place. I miss many things about PT -- the food for one -- but what I miss most of all are the tall trees, the musty forest smell, the open pastures, and the beaches. We're going to go for a long walk on the beach this morning and though the rain has finally found us, I'm still looking forward to the salty air, the sandy walk, and that view across the water to the straight line of the horizon.

When I lived here, it was those long walks in the woods or along the beach that gave me peace. They were also the medicine that made me realize how much of my life I'd lived in fear. I suppose it's not ironic that now I've made a job out of walking dogs in the city since walking here in PT (usually with dogs) was the way I grounded myself, the way I found sanity at a time when I thought sanity was lost. Still, if I could take one thing back to Seattle with me, it would be the nature of this place -- the smells and sights and the long, long walks where I never see another soul.

Everyone is still asleep from last night's party. While I want more sleep, I found myself lying awake and listening to the morning chorus of birds calling me to go outside. I took the dogs out in the backyard and while they were eating their breakfast on the porch, three adult deer silently leapt over the fence and sauntered across the lawn. Luckily the city dogs didn't see them, but I watched and smiled, realizing I need to come back every now and again just to remind myself of the acreage on my past.

Happy Dance

As I write, there is a very long-haired dog sound asleep beside me. The curly one is on his bed in the living room -- his usual morning position.

My body is relaxed but tired today. I somehow thought that ending my teaching career would give me more time, but as of late, I've been busy. That's not a bad place to be considering, but it's not the place I thought I'd be. I worked last night at the pool -- apprenticing actually -- after spending the day walking dogs. Standing in a warm pool after walking 5 or 7 miles is exactly what my tired feet need, but both jobs are physical. Therefore, I'm tired -- a good tired, but tired all the same.

Still, like Woobie in the photo above, I find myself doing the Happy Dance...well, that and pinching myself. "Is this really my life?" I wake up asking. "Am I really making a living working with dogs?"

Okay, so I'm not rolling in the dough and I'm lucky to have Ann who has both a frugal approach to life and a good paying job, but still, I'm holding up my end of the financial part of our marriage and doing something I love. There's a lot to be said for that -- marriage and work I love -- and that's why I keep pinching myself. I keep reviewing exactly how I got here and most of it feels like a cosmic combination of luck and timing.

And dare I sound like one of those woo-woo guests on Oprah, there is something divine in trusting both my instincts and the universe. Sure, I still have the bad habit of worrying too much and an even worse habit of wondering if I've faked my way here and am actually not as good as everything thinks I am, but those feelings are not as intense anymore. Which I guess is to say that I'm trusting more -- trusting that perhaps I am good enough, perhaps I am competent and kind, perhaps I got here by my own character and not so much by chance.

While Woobie's Happy Dance exemplifies how I'm feeling about where I've landed, Rubin's levitation is also representational of each day when I realize I am in this amazing place in my life. "Hey," I find myself saying as Rubin is doing in this photo, "Look what I can do?"

Maybe I should write a book that will land me an interview on Oprah. Instead of "Eat, Pray, Love" it could be "Walk, Water, and Wonder." Even though some days the reality is more like "Poop, Rain, and Wrinkled Skin" either way, I'm still dancing and walking through my life a few inches off the ground.

Age

Yesterday we sat in the sun at my parents' house surrounded by elders -- my parents, two friends with whom I grew up (surrogate Aunt and Uncle as it were) and a more recent friend. We represented age by the decades -- 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s. We talked of the past, we talked of the future, we talked of now, and we talked of our ailments. Collectively, there was enough medication prescribed we could have started our own pharmacy, but we didn't dwell on the aches and pains. We didn't dwell on anything too long, which is precisely why I loved the day.

And the roses...
And the canine youth amongst us...
Instead, we ate German. Bratwurst, sauerkraut, potato salad, German beer, and German chocolate cake. I ate myself stuffed and devoured the time with my aging parents and our aging family friends. Happy Birthday, Papa (the occasion for the festivities). You have always surrounded yourself with interesting people and I am happy (as are Ann and Rubin) to be counted among them.

On the drive home, Ann and I got to talking about the 32 years difference in our ages. There was a time in my life when 32 years seemed like an impossible journey, an eternity of sorts, but time, of course, has changed all of that. 32 years seems as quick as lightning these days and when I look forward to those years, I wonder how to slow them down, how to force my heels to the ground and press the brakes a bit harder.
The other day I heard a story on the radio that one of the low points of happiness in one's life is at the age of 50. The highest points are childhood and old age. Apparently, I am in the dip though things feel pretty wonderful right now, which either means the statistics are wrong or my life is going to get measurably more wonderful.

I vote for the latter.
Sitting around that sunny table (and where has the sun gone today?), I started to look forward to the days ahead. All those "old" people knew how to relax, knew how to appreciate good food, good friends, and good memories. All those elders knew that these moments were what it's all about and so they sat in the moment and took a deep breath. This is what I am learning as I slip from age 51 to 52. Or perhaps it's not a slip at all, but a step forward, a march onward.
I'm glad I've had such role models. And I'm not just glad that the important adults in my life are all still alive, but that the important adults in my life are people I love spending time with. I get to laugh. I get to eat good food. I get to take in the wisdom and question the assumptions. I get to ask for another bratwurst and hint at the need for a larger slice of cake. And I get to do what a lot of my friends don't -- I get to spend time with my aging parents who are relatively healthy and just as quick-witted and sharp of mind as they were when they were my age now.
So Happy Birthday again, Dad and thanks to both of you for inviting us to your wonderful party. Now, let's see if we can find that sunshine again!