A. L. Kaplan

Author: A. L. Kaplan

  • Undeadwood

    Leafy greens covered the trees around Mike. He shifted the gas filled backpack, hoping it would be sufficient. The blowtorch and chainsaw were standard equipment since the zombie apocalypse. Somewhere in here was a whole forest of mobile undead trees. Ravenous, leafless, oh, and of course brainless, the zombie trees struck without warning. Last night they grabbed the best damned dog Mike ever had. He was going to destroy them.

    A strange sound drifted with the wind, rising and falling with the lilting sound of a song bird. Mike followed the sound, keeping alert for the telltale creaking and moaning that the undead trees made, and a sharp eye for leafless trees. If this led to his death, so be it. The song grew more distinct and he began to catch odd lyrics about a brook tripping and falling and praying larks. Beyond a stand of bamboo, in a wide clearing, Mike spied a nun perched on a large rock.

    “Come closer, Mike. I assure you I am very much alive and unafflicted with zombieism.”

    “How…”

    “Do I know your name?” she said, with a big grin. “Rover, of course. My name is Sister Mary Margaret. No time to talk. I’ll lull the trees. The rest is up to you.”

    She picked up her ukulele and began strumming the melody to “My Guy.” Those zombies never stood a chance. A sharp wind cleared the smoke from the smoldering deadwood. With a wave, Sister Mary Margaret flew away carrying her ukulele.

  • For the Love of Canines: Praeses Part 2

    Praeses 10After growing up with an untrained dog, I was determined to teach my puppy. The hopes were for a cross between Lassie and Rin Tin Tin. A friendly stranger introduced me to the Dog Owners Training Club of Maryland, and so began our education. Note the name says dog owners training, and not dog training. I had as much to learn about teaching a dog as Praeses had to learn about good behavior.

    I took everything in stride, even when she talked back during class. And she really did talk back, even as she followed every command I gave her. Our education went so wonderfully, that I decided to enter her in an obedience trial. It wasn’t until we had earned the second leg of our Companion Dog degree that someone mentioned that Alaskan Malamutes were supposed to be difficult to train. She came in first place and was even the highest scoring novice at the show. The very next week at what should havPraeses 7e been our last novice trial, she sat across the ring during the sit stay and turned it into a sit say. I wanted nothing better than to crawl under the mats and hide I was so embarrassed. Needless to say, we were disqualified.

    Praeses did earn her degree a few weeks later. In fact, she was the highest scoring novice Alaskan Malamute in the country for 1990. Her picture is published in the Alaskan Malamute Praeses 8Annual for 1991 on page 8. She’s listed as Heljwins Praeses Kaplan CD with a score of 197 out of 200. We hit our obedience wall with retrieving. Wooden dumbbells just weren’t her thing. Neither was bringing things back to me. While we didn’t compete at the higher levels, we did continue going to class for fun.

    People always asked me if Praeses knew any tricks.  Well, I only taught her two stupid pet tricks. She could balance a cookie on the end of her nose and catch it on command. A friend of mine needed a wolf for a movie he was making, so I also taught her to play dead. Praeses was a bit of a ham and did a stumble-stumble fall while doing it, complete with convincing death vocalizations. She was billed as Praeses the Wonder Dog. Ah, the joys of life at an art school. Did I mention she wore costumes? I still have her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtledog costume in the basement. She was Michelangelo, complete with numb chucks and pizza.Praeses 9

    Down the street from my apartment was an empty lot which was used as an unofficial off Lead Park. Every morning and evening the local pack would meet up and play. Even as a puppy Praeses knew she would be big and tried to throw her shoulder at the larger dogs. It was rather amusing to watch. Remember that smart little pup who sought out the shade? Well, every time the dog tag/chase game ran its wide circle around the park, Praeses cut across the center to catch the leader. Worked every time. Overall, Praeses was very smart, except when it came to tennis balls. She absolutely loved them…as snacks. In a matter of twenty minutes, while visiting a friend’s house, Praeses consumed three and a half balls. Luckily she was fine, but didn’t feel well for a few days. She also learned to wake me by bouncing her head on my bed. As a rule, Praeses wasn’t allowed on the furniture, but one day when I was sick, she looked at me with those big brown eyes. I could see the question in her eyes asking “can I?” All I did was nod my head slightly and say ok. She was on the bed in a flash and quickly curled up at my feet.

    Praeses was more than a dog. She was a companion and friend, the anchor that kept me grounded in reality, never allowing my mind to drift careless when I needed to be focused. We moved out of the city when I got married and started a pack of our own. Praeses passed away in her sleep one month before my second daughter was born.

  • For the Love of Canines: Praeses Part 1

    Praeses 3Several years after Tiger passed on I found myself living in downtown Baltimore. Grad school at MICA was fine, but city life just isn’t my thing. I missed the outdoors and going for walks in the park without fear. Walks at night were out of the question unless I had an escort. More importantly, I missed the kind of companionship only a dog can give. No strings, no demands, just unconditional love. Unfortunately, without a MD drivers license, adopting from the local animal shelter was out.

    I’ve always felt it important to do research before adopting any pet. After all, a bad personality mix is worse than no pet at all. The needs of the pet have to be met. A stray cocker spaniel followed me home one day. It was cute, but grabbed my ankles when I tried to play, which I found annoying. Besides, she was way too small for me. I wanted a dog I could pet without having to bend over, one I wouldn’t be afraid of stepping on by accident. It wasn’t hard to find her a good home, but that left me still dogless.

    While perusing a book in the library, I discovered the perfect breed of dog for me. The first line on the description read “don’t let the wolf like characteristics for this breed deter you.” I was hooked.  The Alaskan malamute is a working dog and like most of the northern breeds, highly independent.

    I found a local breeder through an ad, and after several interviews, was allowed to pick a dog from her litter. Half a dozen puppies ran and greeted me enthusiastically on that 95 degree humid day. One small fur ball said hello, then separate from the frenzied pack and crawled under the shade of a lawn chair. She was different, with shorter fur, and in my eyes smarter for getting out of the sun. I knew then, that she was the dog for me. As luck would have it, she was also ‘improperly coated’, which meant she wasn’t a show dog. That was fine. I wanted a companion, not a beauty pageant queen. So, for 200 dollars and a barter deal for a few sculptures, my new best friend came home with me.

    Praeses 4

    Praeses is Latin for guardian or protector or in her case, protectoress. She more than lived up to her name, protecting me from every squirrel and dog in the neighborhood. Her very appearance, even as a puppy inspired some people in the city to cross the road, rather than walk past her on the sidewalk. If they only knew. Praeses, like wolves in the wild, lived by the hierarchy of the pack.  I was her alpha, but most people were betas in her eyes, putting her one level below. I kept that secret safe.Praeses 5

    Praeses 6

    Funds were tight as a student, and I gulped at our first vet visit when the receptionist handed us our bill and politely said, “That will be 150 dollars this time” It was the ‘this time’ that got me. Owning a dog is expense but worth it.

    Our first night, I was so afraid she would have an accident in the house, that I didn’t sleep a wink. Every time she stirred, I would scoop her up and take her to the curb. We finally got our rhythms in sync after a week or so, and my roommate told me how to make a station chain in the kitchen to keep her out of mischief until she was house trained. Even if I could have afforded a crate, my research had mentioned that malamutes preferred tie outs to the confinement of a crate.

  • Déjà View

    Ads flashed on the giant screens, mesmerizing even in broad daylight. The bright blue sky did nothing to ease Carl’s tension. It was the same as his dream, all of it. The flag blowing in the wind, the coke ad, even the people walking down the street. Soon a dog walker would trip over the rottweiler’s leash. Carl closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm, but the images continued, like the nightmare he’d had for months. It always ended with a girl in a red dress falling to her death from the tower. Tormented, he finally left his Kansas farm and drove all the way to New York. He had to stop it. He had to save her.

    The bottle of Coors on the screen began to pour itself into a glass. If he didn’t reach the top of the tower soon, it would be too late. He raced into the building, passed the security guard dozing at the door. Alarms began to blare as Carl charged up the stairwell. He reached the roof, lungs bursting, legs protesting. The girl in the red dress stood perched on the edge of the roof, hair blowing over her face, leaning toward her death. Carl lunged catching her ankle as she fell. He couldn’t let her die, not again.

    “Let go of me you idiot. You’re spoiling the stunt.”

    Carl looked down, noticing the inflated crash pad on the ground and the camera crews set up around the square. Damned defective psychic powers.

  • Conflagration

    Flames tore at the old wooden house, devouring each board and the memories hidden within. Ian stood a good hundred yards from the structure shivering even as heat from the blaze scorched his skin. Emotions swirled in his mind vacillating from terror to rejoicing. The old man told him not to play with matches, told him with the strap of his belt and the point of his boots. Ian knew those boots and belt too well. It didn’t’ take much to rile father, especially when he was drinking.

    Ian was free now. Free from fear and pain, free to live all the dreams he had barely wished for. But who would believe him? Even as the sirens drew nearer, he knew what everyone would think. ‘Poor boy, driven by desperation to kill his dad.’ But it wasn’t Ian that started this fire. His hands were clean. A smile twisted across Ian’s face as he looked at his hands, the ones father always said were deformed. He brushed away tears, wincing as he bumped his bruised cheek. Beside him his rescuer place a hand on his shoulder, three elongated fingers giving a gentle squeeze.

    “It’s time to go, little one.”

    “Will we ever return?”

    Grandpa frowned. “After what he did to you, to her? You deserve better.”

    “Mother loved this world. She even loved him once.”

    “Maybe someday, Ian. Once hearts have healed.”

    Shimmering light swirled around them. Ian’s skin prickled as the transport beam pulled them onto the waiting ship.

  • Og Returns

    Og limped into the cave, cursing as the porcupine quills in his arm dug deeper. He was supposed to bring back meat for the tribe to prove he wasn’t cursed. That plan backfired horribly. Not only would the medicine man not treat Og’s wounds, they banished him forever. Alone, hurt.

    Something small and dark moved in the shadows making strange grunting sounds. Og tensed, ready to run but it was only a small bear. It would make a good dinner, but Og was too tired. Besides, he lost his spear and stone knife fighting the porcupine. He had only his two hands which the baby bear began to lick. Og picked up the bear and carried it outside.

    “Og need cave for new home. You too little for nice big cave. Go play in grass with pretty flowers.”

    Sad brown eyes stared at Og, alone, driven from his home. Og wiped a tear from his eye and carried the bear back into the cave. They curled up together all warm and cozy, friends.

    Og woke to a loud roar and a big angry bear. He stood over the baby bear, facing the vicious teeth and razor sharp claws.

    “You no hurt little bear. He Og’s friend.”

    Shimmering light surrounded the bear. Og rubbed his eyes, confused. When he looked again, the big bear was gone, instead a pretty woman in a bear cape smiled at him. Women never looked at Og like that before. Maybe Og finally did something right.

  • Till Dark

    All was quiet in the dimming light. Amber reflections on the still waters belayed the terror that hid there, waiting, lurking, ready to feed on the unsuspecting foolish enough to venture near. More than a dozen had already vanished, but few bodies had been found, mutilated, torn almost beyond recognition. Deputy Aldridge gripped the talisman around his neck, praying for guidance and protection. A faint circle of salt and sand surrounded him, symbols delineating protective spirits and corners. Gary had been the first taken, dabbling in things beyond his understanding and ability. Now it was up to Aldridge to make it right, to banish the ancient evil Gary awoke.

    Darkness descended and with it the roar of boiling water. Shadowy tendrils whipped out of the lake, seeking a new victim to quench its thirst. Aldridge began chanting, calling to the great spirits to send the demon back to the land of shadows. His hands shook with fatigue as he fought off the terror the creature exuded. Water demon, ancient and evil, exiled by his ancestors. Aldridge’s will began to crumble against the demon’s power. Just as he thought all was lost, energy poured into him, drawing him away from the abyss. Aldridge sensed his father, grandfather, and other ancestors standing beside him. Light flashed, surrounding the demon. It roared in pain and fury as it was dragged back into the void, sealed away where it could do no more harm.

    … Until another fool called it back to this world.

  • For the Love of Canines: Wolves

    Wolf on RockGrowing up I read all sorts of animal books including those of Jack London, and Albert Payson Terhune, a local author who wrote about collies, and of course, Julie of the Wolves. So I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when I had a dream about wolves. It wasn’t an ordinary dream. It was one of those half-awake dreams where you can remember every little detail. I immediately wrote it down, and then began researching wolves. Until that moment, wolves were minor characters in stories, but I really didn’t know much about them. The more I learned, the more I liked. I now have a shelf full of fiction and non-fiction wolf books and wolf art decorates the house.

    Wolf

    This past summer I had the pleasure of visiting the International Wolf Center in Ely, Minnesota. I’ve been a member since they were established. It was a wonderful experience to finally meet their ambassador wolves, Aiden and Denali. (Only a foot away through the glass wall.) I even got to meet their three retired ambassadors, Malik, Shadow, and Grizzer, on a behind the scenes tour. The biggest thrill, however, was listening to the wild wolves howl back to us on the Wolf Communication field trip. I guess Buck isn’t the only one who’s heard the call of the wild.

    International Wolf Center

    (Call of the Wild published in 1903, was written by Jack London. Julie of the Wolves published in 1972, was written by Jean Craighead George. A few Albert Payson Terhune books are still in print or as eBooks. My favorite was Gray Dawn, but Lad: A Dog published in 1919, is the most well-known.)

  • For the Love of Canines: Tiger

    Me and Tiger
    Me and Tiger

    Around the time I entered kindergarten my family got a dog. My parents both grew up in New York City and didn’t know much about dogs or dog training. But we lived in the suburbs of New Jersey, they had three kids, and getting a dog was the thing to do. Besides, my mom had always wanted one. My pleas for a lengthy name with Bluebird in it were ignored. They named him Tiger.

    What really set off my love of dogs was not the appearance of this rambunctious creature that even as a puppy would drag me across the lawn. It was the incident in the kitchen. My memories are a little fuzzy on details. Clearly I had done something wrong that deserved a severe scolding, but I have no idea what. I remember my mother being very angry and looming over me while I lay on the floor. Suddenly, Tiger was standing over me, protecting me from potential danger. At least that’s how I saw it. Although I didn’t realize it until years later, that incident sealed the bond between me and canines.

    Half border collie and half standard poodle, Tiger was all untrained mutt. He stole food off the table and counters, begged and whined while we ate, barked at everything, and ran off every second he got the chance. Car rides were impossible as he started barking as soon as he entered any vehicle and didn’t stop until he got out. Tiger wasn’t a total train wreck. He learned to walk on his back legs and do other stupid pet tricks as long as food was involved. He was also a great listener and never once complained about my singing. Tiger and I were like siblings. I was the only one he ever growled and snapped at, but still loved him. He was family. My attempts to teach him manners later in life, however, met with failure.

    One cold December evening, when I was home from college, I went over to say goodnight before heading up to bed. By that time he could no longer walk up the two steps into the house and was living in the garage. Tiger raised his head and looked at me, wagged his tail a few time, then lay his head down and when back to sleep. He never woke up. It was a goodbye wag I would never forget.

    Tiger Sleeping
    Tiger Sleeping

  • Under the Hanukah Tree

    Gifts? Who cares about gifts? Christmas activities are what really rock, like piling into the car and driving to my favorite restaurant in New York’s Chinatown. We’d bundle up against the cold and walk to Mott Street, stopping in shops on the way. Each year I’d buy a tiny clay figure of a peasant for my collection. Then it was on to Hunan House for a delicious banquet with our friends. Of course we had soup. Hot and sour or sizzling rice were my favorites followed by pan fried dumplings and spare ribs. The main course varied year to year, but moo shu pork and whole crispy sweet and pungent sea bass were almost always on the menu. Once in a while, if we ordered in advance, we’d get Peking duck as an extra special treat.

    Chinese restaurants aren’t known for their desserts, but Hunan House used to do a fried banana that was out of this world. They’d bring the sizzling pan of glazed bananas to the table and quick drop them in a bowl of ice water. The result was a hot delicious cooked banana surrounded by a sweet hard candy shell. If only I could go back in time. I’ve never found another restaurant that did fried banana’s like that.

    Bananas weren’t always on the menu. If they weren’t, we’d go to the ice cream place around the corner for mango ice cream or to Little Italy down on Mulberry Street for pastries. Not the same, but always delicious.

    Today this tradition has been passed on to the next generation.

    Happy New Year and may all your steam buns be hot.