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Time is a Thief
One day at the Beach House while participating in yet another round of Jack-Assory with Roslyn, Mike and Libby’s young dog, Sarrah slipped on the smooth floor and yelped. She got up trembling a bit, favoring her hind leg. In an instant the mood and her life, changed. I massaged her leg and we kept them mostly apart for the rest of the weekend. Sunday afternoon I took her on our last walk to the beach, for the weekend. She was a little wobbly and I sat on a log, held her and wept. I took her leash off (in violation of the law) and let her walk on her own, with a spark of energy from the added freedom. She enjoyed the stroll, but was in pain and dragging her feet. Looking back I was scared, afraid that Sarrah was near the end of her life.
Back home we immediately cut back on the distance of our usual walks from over a mile per day to just few blocks, as Sarrah was dragging her toenails and was (depressingly) happy to do less. I was looking into all options like dogcarts, surgery, and whatever might be a cure or any method of preservation for my friend. I desperately needed to find a cure for what time had done to her, to replace what was Stolen. Around this time Sarrah and I had bodies of approximately the same age and condition.
I decided to try Acupuncture for her, as I’ve found it to bring much relief. In some ways it would be easier for Sarrah to gain from it, as animal’s don’t have to ‘turn off the human preconceived mental junk’ in order to have an open mind. Over the last couple of years I had read a few news articles about the growing practice of animal acupuncture and the successes with it. Fortunately, the progressive culture in the Pacific Northwest is open to many forms of alternative care for people and animals making these treatments readily available. Fortunately, I found a veterinary clinic nearby that offered acupuncture and began the effort to restore what could be, for Sarrah. Initially she was nervous, a little scared and not trusting the surroundings of this new place that had similar sounds and smells of the vet clinic that she absolutely hated. Shortly after arriving we met the acupuncturist. This wonderful veterinarian, Darla Rewers was the first one that I recall meeting who seemed genuinely delighted to be with the patient and openly passionate about caring for them. Sarrah picked up on this faster than I and seemed to trust her. It was determined that hip dysplasia, common for Dalmatians’ and probably a tear of some tissue was the cause of Sarrah’s loss of stability in her leg. The initial treatment of just a few general points and a couple specific for her hindquarters was sort of an easing into treatment with needles.
Sarrah initially trembled and hated the session, but noticed improvement almost immediately and tolerated the treatment. We went frequently and with each session the quantity of treatment points increased, she improved with each visit. Soon she stopped dragging her toenails and regained most of her abilities, with the exception of having a trick hip and a need to avoid slippery surfaces. We both, through error and trial, discovered many little things that Sarrah either needed help with (such as climbing into the back of the car and rug runners for slippery floors) or had to avoid completely (no more beloved games of tug-o-war and going down stairs, so I carried her). I used to whisper in her ear while lifting and carrying her “Us old dogs, Gotta stick together”.
I shared some of Sarrah’s acupuncture experiences with my acupuncturist. We talked about how gains in health and pain relief with animals prove that it is not merely just in human minds. Occasionally, I also ‘stood on my soapbox’ and preached the proof based experiences that I have witnessed with this ancient method of healing, for animals and people. It was a miracle at least to me, that the clock was turned back a bit for Sarrah. A huge gift!
I started playing Johnny Cash singing “Hurt” for her visits, too.
Am I the one you were sent to save?
Around two thousand four a song by Pat Green “Wave on Wave” was overplayed on the radio and music video channels. I find it to be a nice easy going, feel good kind of song. I noticed that Sarrah also seemed to like this song and one day asked her a line from it “Am I the one you were sent to save?” She gave me a quick wry glance and then that sort of ‘parenting look’, as if to say “You know the answer” (she gave me the same look every time I asked that question). After that day, every time the song played, we made eye contact and smiled. Years later, I downloaded it onto my iphone so we could hear it frequently, whenever the mood struck or the need arose.
Recently I heard Dean Koontz reading his book (on DVD) “A big little life” sharing a similar experience with his dog. He also touched on a belief held by some that dogs contain reincarnated beings, or souls. I, like him am not sure about this, but then I again I do not have ‘the answers’.
Why do people carry books with them?
Why do people carry the same books with them?
Usually Bibles or other religious books, I assume, but why? Is it to read, or reread when time is theirs to spare? Could it be kept nearby so they can make notes on the pages when something comes to mind? Perhaps to have it on hand to share with others, if so moved. Maybe it is simply for comfort. I’m not sure why and I’d never really thought about it, until Nissa asked me “Do you think your binder is a Security Blanket?”
I replied (after a day of contemplation) “Perhaps… It is a security blanket, but I think it’s more a need to complete it (with no rush nor deadline). If I stop, it may never be restarted and remain unfinished. The story is too important, at least to me (besides the time invested) and deserves to be written to some level of completion”.
This question and contemplation all came about because; from the moment that I began writing about Sarrah I kept a black pleather binder with me, at all times. This ‘manuscript’ evolved with daily handwritten words, as they came to me. Mainly I retyped it in the early morning hours, those when Sarrah would have been by my side, while my dragon waited and before the day cluttered my mind. Then I updated it onto printed pages. In the quiet, alone times often I just read and reread portions of my writings, reliving them in my mind. Sometimes I simply kept it open to a picture.
I am lucky that I started writing about Sarrah when I did, otherwise I may have never done it.
Equally, that it grew enough momentum to help perpetuate itself.
I always wanted the story to progress… but did not really want it to conclude.
The less I Understand
Like an early morning drunk, after having sat all night at a gaming table in the dark corner of a garish smoke stained casino, it seems that I had played this game too long. Perhaps like most games, if you are distracted in the process of playing them well and lose track of time, you will eventually lose. I guess sooner or later we all lose, Everything.
To borrow yet again from Don Henley, in his song The Heart of the Matter “The more I Know, The less I Understand” rings true for me, again. Our dispiriting American economic meltdown also known as “The Great Recession” started for me and much of the residential real estate construction related world, in the fall of Two Thousand Eight. My customer base was exclusively new construction driven and all caught up in the terminal economic tsunami. I had earned a decent living for years prior to this carelessly fueled real estate lending boom, rode the waves along with the new “gold rush feverists” throwing up not so little boxes on the hill side and now continue to struggle in the rip tide with those who remain. Most people that I know were greatly financially impacted, many were annihilated. All have been battle scarred. And the nightmare is far from over.
Change of Flow
August 2012 I attended a writing workshop titled “Making a Personal Metaphor from the Natural World” by the writer Matt Love at the Alder Creek Farm Conservation Site in Manzanita, Oregon.
Another of Matt’s prompts that day – was to use different blue crayons and draw a body of water resembling self.
My crude picture was a side view of a river meeting the ocean (I was thinking about the mouth of the Columbia River colliding with the Pacific Ocean between Washington and Oregon).
– Then name it
I came up with “Change of Flow”
– The next step was to write some thoughts about our sketch.
I wrote:
I am at a point in my life where, like the mouth of a river meeting the ocean, flow has changed.
No longer going in a predictable direction, now part of a more random, changing… Freedom.
The largely wilder side of uncertainty is both calming and stressful, at the same time.
This change of flow is unique in its position of looking into the future, while looking backward.
The gravitational nature of this place in uncontrolled.
– Next we were to go back and underline the top three words.
– Then write a sentence summarizing our thoughts.
“I am at a point in my life where, like the mouth of a river meeting the ocean… Flow has Changed”
Fog
August 2012 I attended a writing workshop titled “Making a Personal Metaphor from the Natural World” by the writer Matt Love at the Alder Creek Farm Conservation Site in Manzanita, Oregon. This one-day experience was packed with many memorable moments, but the last couple of days keep bringing me back to one of the last writing prompt lessons of that day.
From Matt’s “Nature Metaphor Inventory List” prompts – we were to write down what first came to mind (and a bit why it was chosen):
Animal –
Bird – Eagle (don’t flock)
Water Creature –
Tree – Cedar (stay consistent)
Season – Autumn (cooling time)
Landform – Mountain (largely impenetrable)
Form of Precipitation – Fog (hard to see thru)
Astrological –Comet (flash & go away)
Element (gold, copper, etc.) –
Some I didn’t have a strong answer for in the short time given for each, so I skipped them.
Then we were to choose the one that best describes our individual writing style and expand on it, I chose Fog.
Here’s my list of why, because I:
– Use a lot of questions (many go unanswered)
– Don’t follow a linear path
– Use punctuation… approved and Not, to affect! Cadence
– Confuse those not paying attention
– Like to intrigue and cause readers to wander and wonder
– Find mischievous pleasure in drawing a reader in (once you start walking in fog, you have to keep going)
– Hide small treasures for those who think
I’m not certain how accurate this was/is but it has been very foggy here for a few days and I kinda like it.
Angel
A little dog lives on a shelf near my kitchen window, the rectangle of glass that I stand in front of while I wait. Waiting for coffee to drip, food to cook and often be eaten at the sink underneath. The main window where I quietly watch some of the world pass on by and think or try not to.
***
Coffee cups, Calendars and Pictures are some of the Pop Culture commercial products that turn into gifts when you walk down the path of life with a pet.
Before Sarrah’s first Christmas She was given her own ornament.
Initially I thought this odd little white dog with black spots, beige and brown wings, a gold wire halo and string to hang it was strange, a dog ornament for a dog.
As newness of these trinkets wears off, they blend into cupboards, shelves, walls and some boxes along with the rest of a person’s possessions. Quietly these items are not really even noticed for a few years and then they become souvenirs of a life.
The little Angel Dog that I once thought odd came out for Christmas 2010 and never went back.
Eye of December
Another newer wrinkle of our annual tradition in what has evolved into the month of Christmas, we escaped to the Beach House for the weekend prior to the actual holiday. Just Nissa and I with our pets, went to get away from it all and make peace with the season. This is a nice, quiet, uneventful time to unwind and reflect in our place of refuge, sort of ‘the eye in the storm’ that is December. This last time Sarrah was clingier and wanted to sit in my lap, many times. She wanted to do this often in her early years, but with wiggly youthful restlessness. Now she wanted to be still and press her forehead against me, perhaps bonding in reflection. I wonder if there was a tear in her eye.
Frost
Regardless of what the calendar tells us, our winter weather shows up (or doesn’t) when it feels like it, displaying another perk of living with our northern marine air. During this time of year most things have a steel grey tone as the night takes a larger portion of the day and the sun often fails to shine through. Even our evergreen plants seem darker, lacking in their color. The once bright signs of Fall lose their color and clump into soggy piles of last years’ leftovers in the corners, becoming dreary coverings of decay and dormancy.
In the lower elevated, more populated areas of the Pacific Northwest we tend to be cold and often damp. But on occasion, ready or not we have freezing temperatures and wake up to a bright fresh glazing of frost. Sarrah discovered this crunch of frozen grass under paw to be a treat, loving to run with her nose right on the sparkling tips of the frosted blades. Consumed with excitement by the mischievous spirit of Jack Frost tickling and tingling her snorting nose she would gasp for air while zigzagging the leash, dragging me around the block. This annual random occurrence under the glowing streetlights was always good fun and warmed me with a smile.
Can Bryan Write? 