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The tyranny of the calendar-driven mind
100 days.
Posted by: Chris Clarke
Note: A database glitch in 2008 ate a bunch of archived comments. Don't be offended if yours isn't here, or confused if the conversation seems disjointed. Thanks!
Once I fished from the banks, leaf-light and happy;
On the rocks south of quiet, in the close regions of kissing,
I romped, lithe as a child, down the summery streets of my veins,
strict as a seed, nippy and twiggy.
Now the water’s low. The weeds exceed me.
It’s necessary, among the flies and bananas, to keep a constant vigil,
For the attacks of false humility take turns for the worse.
Lacking the candor of dogs, I kiss the departing air;
I’m untrue to my own excesses.
-Theodore Roethke, from “Praise to the End!�
By: By Theriomorph on 2007 05 14
{{{Chris}}}
By: By sravana on 2007 05 14
One of the first things I taught him was that he was not to step off a curb without express permission. This express permission came in the form of the word “cross.”
It took about a day of practice, making him sit at the curb on a side street and praising him when he got things right, and only a little routine correction after. One day I realized I’d forgotten to tell him, and I looked back and there he was, half a block back, waiting for me and looking a little upset.
(I trained Becky, too: she started out saying things like “OK, Zeke, cross” and I had to point out all the scariness involved in his being trained to run into the street when hearing the word “OK.”)
He never really needed the leash. He wore it a lot to stay within the bounds of the law, but he always stayed pretty much right with us on the street. On hikes was a different matter: he’d just maintain visual contact. He stayed so close to us that I never felt I needed to teach him to heel, though I did when he was ten just for the exercise.
He was utterly trained to the word “cross.” I spent hours trying to trick him. Saying “Chris,” or “floss,” and he’d startle and then catch himself and wait for the real word.
He was so good. Just so good.
By: By Chris Clarke on 2007 05 14
You were blessed with a very special dog, Chris. I’m glad you talked about this photo, and expressed your love. What became clear to me in this writing, is that Zeke was a being that came into your life because you needed him.
By: By Julie on 2007 05 14
People are still weirded out when I tell Indy to “go home” and he immediately returns to the trailer. He really deserves someone like you and Becky to who view him as the earth and sky, not just one of a pack. I consistently feel bad about that.
100 days is a blink. A post at 500 should not be unexpected. A few nights ago, I dreamed of Molly, my beloved black Coon whose life ended on a drizzly night when I was seven months pregnant with Grace (now almost 11). And then, Molly II’s daughter, Buttercup, who I raised when Molly II rejected her due to an emergency c-section (another car-feline interaction, this one during a campaign race where my candidate’s opponent ran over her corpse as I stood by, and smiled.)
I don’t think for a moment that my love for my four-legged animals compares to your’s for Zeke, and for that, I am humbled and awed. Here, there are too many needs to go around, and non-humans unfortunately suffer. But I see Zeke as your son, and as such, there is no timetable. You need to stop rationalizing. He was your son, or your brother, if you feel less patriarchal. Those of us with similar relationships, human or otherwise, understand. We weep with you.
By: By MBW on 2007 05 15
my candidates opponent ran over her
Jesus Haploid Christ on a stick, MB. Ow ow ow ow.
You’re stronger than me, obviously. I’d be kicking off sideview mirrors Eric-style, and then using them as impromptu proctoscopes. Or less creatiely, just breaking my fist on the safety glass.
He was your son, or your brother, if you feel less patriachal.
The metaphor that makes the most sense to me right now is that he was the algae in the lichen that was us.
By: By Chris Clarke on 2007 05 15
Should I make it worse by confessing that it was the candidate who had beaten me by just few votes in the primary a few months before? He was such a cretin that I gave up all my (substantial) political creds to run the campaign of his Green opponent. Perhaps one can now understand why.
He’s now a Maine legislator and I’m exiled politically.
Algae and lichen make sense. Sadly, you might probably survive, unlike your non-human counterparts. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?
By: By MBW on 2007 05 15
Eh, I wrote something, and, you know, it just didn’t fit the mood, so I’m replacing it with this dreck.
Long live Chris, so he can carry on Zeke’s mission. Whether it’s peeing on Joshua trees or saving the planet.
By: By MBW on 2007 05 15
(o)
(This one is a flake of mica, winking in the sun.)
I’m thinking of you.
By: By Rana on 2007 05 15
He was so good. Just so good.
***
Much blinking, through tears.
By: By Charles on 2007 05 15
I was once owned for 9 1/2 years by a Zeke, but I called him Big Bear (nickname for Ursa Major). I had to help him move on to the other side over 5 years ago. I still can’t, after 1900+ days, tell the story of the last days of his life without feeling that tightening knot in my throat, my eyes overflowing, and my voice degrading into choking sounds. Then I see his smiling visage in my mind’s eye and I know he’s OK. But man do I ever still miss my big boy. They don’t ever really go away completely. I really don’t want him too either.
By: By Kevin on 2007 05 15
Your crossing-the-street story reminds me of my first dog, Kemo. My parents, for whatever reason, decided he was not supposed to go in the kitchen. We had this tiled floor, and there was a line demarcating the kitchen tile from the hallway outside. Kemo would sit with his paws just over the line, looking up at us, but he never went in the kitchen. He was so very pleased with himself for clearly understanding what the line was for, and for being just devilish enough to test the rules.
This was nearly two decades ago.
By: By sabotabby on 2007 05 15
I love that, sabotabby.
I might have told this story before, but Zeke used to come in to work with me every day back in 1992, and we’d take breaks to go get coffee at the local gallery/cafe/hangout. We’d go to the backdoor and he’d wait for me there after the cafe owner Augusta fussed over him, which she did every day, and he knew that he wasn’t allowed to set foot in the place, but he always wanted to.
I was standing in line one of those days while Augusta waited on the five or six customers ahead of me. Zeke saw me, decided he was going to sneak in, and lifted a front paw to do so, ever so sneakily.
I cleared my throat pointedly. He withdrew right away.
It was funny. I got a lot of nice comments from the people that saw this about my dog-training abilities, but it was all Zeke.
I saw a dog today — played with it for a little while — that reminded me of Z. Didn’t look anything like him, but he communicated. Made eye contact, paid close attention, completely there with me for the few minutes we played. God I miss that. And most dogs aren’t like that, at least not with me.
By: By Chris Clarke on 2007 05 16
Hi, Chris. I am so sorry; Zeke was more than wonderful, a perfect being. A friend sent me here to read you because I, too, am grieving over my dog who died this last week, and trying to rationalize it, but as you say, there is no lesson. A betrayal in every forgotten moment.
By: By Angie on 2007 05 18
Zeke was more than wonderful, a perfect being.
Heh. Even I wouldn’t go that far. He had flaws, and if you give me a few hours I bet I could think of one.
I’m really sorry about your dog. I’d love to hear more about him.
By: By Chris Clarke on 2007 05 18
Dogs are pretty close to perfect, I think—they’re so honest about their flaws, how can you fault them? *smile* “Yes, I just ripped up your underwear, and I know you hate it because you’ve said so a million times, but I just can’t help some things because I’m a dog.” Sol did do some disgusting things that drove me crazy, but I’m so early in the grieving stage that I even miss those.
Sol just turned 7 on April 27. He started having seizures after Halloween, which we hoped were due to epilepsy, which can be managed somewhat. Soon, however, his symptoms progressed to weakness in his back legs, disorientation, snapping a little, forgetting commands and routines. He developed something called Horner’s Syndrome and lost vision. Of course I wanted all these things to be due to other causes, but we consulted a neurologist a few weeks ago, who confirmed our fear that it was a brain tumor. So he went pretty quickly, if five months is quickly, and with this illness, we really didn’t have the gray area you did in your decision, I don’t think. Once his seizures picked up in intensity (four hours apart), we knew we had to end it for him. He had no idea who we were at that point, and we truly felt we did him a favor. Keeping him around would have been for us only, and his seizures probably would have killed him in a few days.
Anyway, we euthanized him May 13.
He was a sensitive, graceful, gentle, goofy dog.
Zeke is a great name.
By: By Angie on 2007 05 18
