Sidewalk Poetry

On Hoyt near Darlene, Hayden Heights:

Now we are seven

Buddha Lou Who is seven years old today. I've told him he's middle-aged, but he seems unfazed by that. Apart from a broken tooth, he's healthy and still the same 55 lbs. he's weighed since he reached year 1.

Tuesday

No luck in the search for a new job.

My hands shake. I wake up repeatedly at night and I'm exhausted all day. The loneliness is awful. I look ahead and I just don't see a way out.

This week I've been trying to walk the dog every night. We can't go to the dog park anymore because of his behavior problems. I tried to sneak in last week in the early a.m. and the pouring rain, and we encountered one of those monster Boxers they're breeding now for people who can't have pit bulls. You know, the oversized Boxers with the extremely pronounced stare and the tail cropped so short there isn't even a stub to show his feelings and intentions.I managed to get Buddha out of there before WWIII erupted, but it was close. Too close. Once we were at a safe distance, I stopped to breathe and realized my hands were shaking again. I can't bring him to the dog park anymore. He just isn't reliable around other dogs anymore. I miss the trees at Dale Road open space. I miss being on the path with the trees all around me. But we just can't go there anymore, or any other off-leash park.

It's odd. He's been to four doggie daycares in his life, and he's welcome to go back anytime to any one of them. The people love him. The dogs love him. He's never had the slightest problem or trouble at them. I don't understand the streak of aggression in him that shows at the dog park, even when there is only one dog around. Now, I don't blame him one bit for getting pissed off at the monster Boxer. Dogs are not supposed to stare at each other. They only do that when they challenge each other. Breeders are doing the Boxer breed a disservice by breeding for the pronounced stare and the size that's well outside Standard. But Buddha has picked on black Labs, for god's sake. He overreacted last week to a dog being walked down the sidewalk in front of the house when I was raking leaves, and I'm too ashamed to even tell the details on this blog. Needless to say, he will never be loose in the front yard (no fence in front) ever again. I'm very lucky the owner didn't complain to animal control or someone. There was no actual damage to the other dog, but that was no thanks to Buddha.

Buddha. There's nothing like screaming "Buddha, no! Leave it, goddamnit!" at the top of your lungs as you pull him off another dog to make you wish that you had named him Shep or anything else non-Zen.

I'm sad about the dog parks. I love to walk with the trees around me. Also, if I were able to trust Buddha around other dogs, I could join the clump of people standing around at the park or join a clump of them walking the paths. I might meet some people. It's too bad. He's so obedient otherwise. I never have to worry that he'll run off or not come when I call. He's the best house dog I've ever had -- no marking, no chewing, no getting into the garbage, no counter-surfing, no "accidents" in the house, no separation anxiety or excessive barking.

"Well, yes, he's got a streak of viciousness in him. But he's very well housetrained!" Queen of denial. What can I say. He really is a wonderful dog. Except for....

I got a deal on a Fitbit and am trying to work up to 10,000 steps per day. I got to 8k+ yesterday. The dog walking in the evening is a large portion of that. I need to do more. With gas at $4.29 a gallon, I'm trying to avoid driving to locations to find nice places to walk him on-leash. We're sticking to the neighborhood. There are trees, of course, but it's not the same as being in the woods.

Sometimes I think I'm insane. I wonder how you know. I have the feeling sometimes that I am not reacting properly to situations, that my perceptions are all wrong. But I look at my world and there are no people in it. I don't see how I can see it any other way than how it is. Empty.

I was thinking of taking up the recorder, since I can't seem to play my native american flute anymore. I don't know. I think I have one of those red translucent plastic recorders somewhere.

In the cracks of the backyard stairs

Backyard

Under the dead leaves, junk mail, and Burger King wrappers, there are hostas. Really.

He'll sit like this and contemplate for hours. This, and the belly he had as a puppy, is why the rescue named him Buddha

I'll admit it:

Okay, I'll admit it: on a day like today I catch myself missing the old bag. In the next moment, I remember that my worst nightmare is that she comes back to life and shows up on my doorstep.

She did her best. It's just that her best was bad.

Millstone.

The millstone was removed from around my neck. Such relief. But the thing about millstone-wearing is that there are lingering effects. The millstone is gone from around your neck, but you remain bent slightly forward, as if the weight is still there.

Love and hate. 

Dream

I dreamed I was making a painting. Red paint. Poured on. No brush. Smoothing the paint. Hand in surgical glove. Smoothing the paint. Fingermarks. Changing the depth in one area by smoothing with tongue depressor. Paint thickening up. Pressing torn pieces of of paper (napkin? TP?) into the paint. Submerged, stiffened, except for an edge.

Round 2 of raking last year's leaves

The previous folks didn't rake, evidently. By the time I moved in, the snow began and covered them all. So, I'm trying to get it all done now, bit by bit, without irritating the already irritated Mr. Rotator Cuff. 

Off to the compost heap with my car load of leaves. 

I estimate 6 car loads total before I'm done, but I'll have to stretch it out. Can't do it all today. Besides, the wind has picked up and keeps sending my leaf piles towards Woodbury.