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Speed Dating at the Dog Park

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Speed Dating at the Dog Park
by tio Stib
with apologies to John Mortimer and Rumpel

I woke sneezing.

eyes watering, I looked around. Nothing unusual. I sneezed again and it hit me. She Who Must Be Obeyed was wearing her latest attempt at scented feminine allure.

“Gigi! come here!” snapped the woman at her “comfort animal,” the creature to whom she incessantly unloaded her unbearable load of unending burdens.

This was unexpected behavior. The mantle clock showed 9 a.m. and this was a woman who was never out of her bathrobe before 10:30. Her ladies circle knew that lunch was the earliest social invitation she would accept.

Her voice barked from the hallway, “Gigi! Here! Now!”

Okay, She Who Must Be Obeyed rules the roost, but I don’t want that going to her head. I rise from my bed, stretch, shake, then slowly saunter towards the front door. I check out the frustrated woman holding a leash and staring me down.

What’s going on. She Who Must Be Obeyed is all done up, coiffed hair, a sweater two sizes too small, tight jeans, and, really? Even high heels. All this drowned in a cloud of nauseating perfume.

I sneezed again.

She snaps on the leash and I’m dragged out the door headed for the Volvo.

the light comes on. We’re going to the dog park, Benicia’s gathering place for socially needy people and their ill mannered pets. She Who Must Be Obeyed has got the hots for that man she met last week. The guy who smelled like pipe tobacco, with that utterly ugly English bulldog alongside him..

Apparently she’s late because we squeal out of the driveway narrowly missing Mr. rumple walking his two sausage dogs. She Who Must Be Obeyed shouts curses at all the “damn senile old farts” impeding her way. this from a woman well into her retirement years. Fortunately, she has the grace to roll down my window so I can escape the malodorous stench.

And then we’re there, parked, and she’s carefully eyeing herself in the rear view mirror. A touch of lipstick, and another shot of that offensive perfume.

“alright Gigi, time to play!” and she’s out and over to my door, wobbling on those silly heels. I jump out, doing my best to assume the manner of a highly regarded canine of at least 50% pedigree poodle blood. One of us needs to be acting like a lady. We cross over to the path leading to the entry gate. It’s the usual mayhem inside, dogs running wild, barking, jumping, sniffing behinds, while clusters of humans engage in mindless chatter.

“Damn!” she mutters, obviously the man she seeks is not there. Undeterred, She who Must Be Obeyed puts on her game face and opens the gate.

Now let’s be clear, I’ve never been a fan of this kind of canine speed dating and the sudden rush of noses in my direction caused me to cower between those ridiculous red heels.

“Get out there Gigi, you’re supposed to be having fun!”

right, since when is having your rear end snorted by dozens of drooling, tongue wagging, foul smelling dogs half of whom try to hop on your back, anything close to fun?

I bared my teeth, snarled, put on my most menacing evil eye and rabid she wolf glare. the butt sniffing crowd abruptly froze, checked out the curled lips and snapping teeth, and turned to friendlier climes.

“Oh! It’s you, what a nice surprise,” swooned She Who Must Be Obeyed, oblivious to the furry chaos around her.

There was a mumbled acknowledgement wrapped in the scent of pipe tobacco. And there was Rex, sitting stoic beside two stout legs clothed in tweed. His massive, wrinkled head eyed me impassively. to his credit, not the slightest indication of any interest in jumping me. He just sat there, solid, restrained, with absolutely no interest in joining the antics and acrobatics of the unleashed dog pack.

Rex was growing on me.

Then I saw them. Two of the most beautiful brown leather penny loafers I’d ever seen.

Now, I have few faults but I do admit to one fetish. Shoes. I have an absolute craving, an animal need, to chew shoes. This irrepressible urge has been with me since puppy days and it has resulted in some extremely strong words from She Who Must Be obeyed. I remember one particularly fraught episode when she left me untended for the day and I happily munched, tore, shredded, and slobbered over every shoe I could reach in her excessively well stocked clothes closet.

I no longer have free roaming privileges in the house and shoes are rarely left on the floor, but She Who Must Be Obeyed sometimes forgets and I rapturously destroy another pair of Hush Puppy slippers.

My eyes widened as I took in the marvel of of two exquisitely made, well preserved penny loafers. Really, who wears such things anymore? And there were even real pennies in the slots.

Irresistible.

I leaped.

He screamed, and began furiously shaking the leg with the 50% poodle’s teeth blissfully sunk into his beautiful brown penny loafer.

She Who Must Be Obeyed looked down and gasped,

“Gigi!?”

The Bulldog Buddha was unmoved.
Perhaps smiling.

 

Unknown's avatar

It’s Official, I’m an Old Fart

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I remember them
the old people
the people always telling about
the ”good old days”
back when milk was a quarter
gas less than a buck
and on and on

those old folks are gone
and now it’s me
complaining
How could gas cost $5
who pays $10 for an ice cream cone
how much for a cup of coffee!?

really?

yes
the old people are still here

and I is one

tio stib

Tags: poetry, aging, life journey, humor of sorts

Unknown's avatar

When the West Wind Blow

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the winter wind in our small seaside town
is from the eastit’s cold
icy from passing over miles of frozen ground
pushing down river a blanket of freezing fog
that shivers bones

for my morning walk
I add a layer of clothing
pull on mittens
snug my cap

but this is just a moment’s comfort
respite for a soul that is

waiting

waiting

waiting for the wind to change
for the west wind to blow again
the wind that brings the puffy clouds
the Spring rain

waiting to shed these woolen socks
dig naked toes into warm earth

to once again
feel the pulse of being

tio stib

Tags: life journey, winter, hope, poetry

Unknown's avatar

Too Many Goodbyes

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for years there was a balance

the hellos and goodbyes
mostly matched each other

yes, there were losses
there was heartache
but also new life
new people

hope

this has been a different kind of winter though
far too many goodbyes have left me wondering

will Spring bring enough helloes

tio stib

Unknown's avatar

Lincoln Portrait Revisited

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In 1942, the American composer, Aaron Copeland, was commissioned to write “The “Lincoln Portrait,” a musical tribute to Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States. A classical orchestra piece with narration, it has been performed in the years since as a celebration of the democratic ideals that have made America great.

In these current tumultuous times, times when each of us are asked to step up and embrace the primary responsibility of being a citizen by exercising our fundamental right to vote, I offer this rendition of the “Lincoln Portrait” by Tom Hanks as a reminder of all we are blessed with to be able to call ourselves Americans.

Vote America!

tio stib

You might also enjoy: If; Invictus

 

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Our Lady Liberty

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I’ve never visited the Statue of Liberty, but before I lost my sight, I often saw images of this one hundred fifty foot tall icon that welcomes all who sail into New York’s harbor. For me, the Statue of Liberty stands for all that is good about America, as put so beautifully by the poet Emma Lazarus-

The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus, 1883

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door

statue of liberty

The statue, a gift to the United States from the people of France,  was dedicated on October 28, 1886. Shipped across the Atlantic Ocean in sections, the copper clad skeleton was erected on a pedestal on what would later be renamed Liberty Island. The pedestal was paid for by thousands of American citizens who donated to a fund raising campaign headed by Joseph Pulitzer, publisher of the New York World newspaper.

According to Wikipedia-

Pulitzer pledged to print the name of every contributor, no matter how small the amount given. The drive captured the imagination of New Yorkers, especially when Pulitzer began publishing the notes he received from contributors. “A young girl alone in the world” donated “60 cents, the result of self denial.” One donor gave “five cents as a poor office boy’s mite toward the Pedestal Fund.” A group of children sent a dollar as “the money we saved to go to the circus with.” Another dollar was given by a “lonely and very aged woman.” Residents of a home for alcoholics in New York’s rival city of Brooklyn—the cities would not merge until 1898—donated $15; other drinkers helped out through donation boxes in bars and saloons. A kindergarten class mailed the World a gift of $1.35 from Davenport, Iowa.

This story brings me to tears, this is my America, the America I believe in, good people working together to build a better world for all. We need a new common vision, a project all Americans can contribute to as we collectively deal with challenges our country has never faced before.

May I suggest for starters, that you consider donating time or money to your local food bank. Millions of our fellow Americans are suffering through intense difficulties and they need our help.

I believe in America’s good. I believe in you!

“Namaste”

tio stib

You might also appreciate:  Lincoln Portrait Revisited; If

Unknown's avatar

The Lost American Porch

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I once lived in a small town
in a small house with a front porch
a sheltered space protecting the entry door
a spot where I would hang out
sitting on a chair, sometimes the steps
drink a beer or lemonade
and simply enjoy the world passing by

a horn would honk, a friendly wave
kids would call out as they passed on their bicycles
neighbors walking dogs, hurrying home from work
“Hello!” 
“Good evening!”
“Nice to feel summer again.”
“Yes, aren’t the roses beautiful?”
“How’s your garden?”
“Beans and peas are up.”
“Going fishing Saturday?”
“Yup.”

these words and waves were the gold threads 
that wove a sense of connectedness , a feeling of belonging
through my life, a fabric seen and felt but not recognized in the moment

I’ve since moved, to bigger places, more complicated worlds
houses that now greet the street with cavernous carports
yawning doorways for cars beside small openings seldom used by people
and these places lack porches, no commitment to connect to the outside world
no attempt to simply sit and watch, to hear, to feel the pulse of community

I do miss the lost American porch

I miss the Americans who used to wave and talk as they passed by

tio stib
2018, 2020

You might also enjoy: Finding Home, Let’s Voyage Into the New American House

Unknown's avatar

My Bubble of Being

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suddenly the din of chatter
the barrage of sounds
the parade of voices without faces

suddenly it was too much

but it was just another yoga class
same time, same people
same routine I’ve followed for years

but too much
suddenly different
suddenly overwhelming

out of the blue
all this noise
all these people

I was dumbstruck

disconnected

surrounded by life I
felt no part of

a blind man

alone

inside my bubble of being

tio stib

Unknown's avatar

A Lesson From Riding a Tandem Bike

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recently I had another blind guy first
a ride on a tandem bike
yes, a sighted and adventurous friend
piloted the machine in the front seat
me, I rode behind and simply pedaled

and trusted

if your the blind guy on the back of a tandem bicycle
trust is the biggest challenge
the only way to overcome fear that the trip will not have a happy ending
so I trusted my companion, a fit, athletic person
could reasonably handle the demands of driving a bike
with me on the back
across flat terrain

good, got that out of the way, what’s next?

communication
the rider in back needs to know what the rider in front is doing
ideally before it happens

turning left
turning right
coasting
braking
ready to stop

I am fortunate as my friend and I communicate well and
we quickly sort out a string of descriptors

okay, I’m almost feeling confident
let’s try this
how do we start

both lean left
both get our right foot atop our pedal
she says “ready, start”
we both push down on our pedals

hwoa!

I am suddenly off balance
I’d forgotten the momentary awkwardness
that interval between zero and building up enough momentum
for the bike to suddenly balance itself

we lurch to a stop but don’t crash

review the situation

try again

almost

and again…

YES!

suddenly a tandem bicycle becomes a flying machine
and a blind man becomes free again, but not quite ready
to release his death grip on the handle bars

the lesson-
sometimes you just have to jump into the void
trust you’ll get through the momentary awkwardness
build the momentum needed
to ride into life’s next great adventure

tio stib aka uncle steve

 

 

Unknown's avatar

My Friend Ego

by 

Ego is upset today
I wouldn’t let him out to play

sometimes he thinks he is the king
and disagrees with everything

he worships his own point of view
scoffs at ideas that are new

at his worst
he’s quite the boor
and then I shove him
out the door

now locked away
inside my mind
I hope
he will become
more kind


tio stib