Tag: Love

GUIDING LIGHT

Grogan yanked the huge oil drum up another step. He was almost to the top of the lighthouse now. Pain lanced his arm, but he ignored it. He had to light a beacon and save the ships headed for the rocks.

Outside the hurricane hammered the old lighthouse. For thirty years he’d been her keeper before they were both declared obsolete. Who needed a lighthouse when everyone had electronic guidance? Now the fancy new phone his granddaughter gave him spewed nonsense. It looked like the ships were fouled up as well.

Good thing they hadn’t forced Grogan to leave when they cut funding and stripped her clean. But now the only way to make the lighthouse shine was to burn her. Tears streamed down his face as he pulled at the drum.

“Sorry, Love. You know it’s the only way.”

Another wave of pain shot through his chest and his foot slipped on the smooth stone steps. He watched with dismay as the barrel clanged to the bottom. Grogan doubled over in pain.

“How can I warn the ships? I need help, Love.”

Suddenly the pain stopped and warm arms pulled him up. Grogan took the last few steps in one stride. He knew what to do now. Fire radiated deep inside him. It burst outward in a blinding light. Almost as one, the storm-tossed ships turned away from the rocks.

“Thanks for your help, Love. You’ve always been there for me. We’ll be together forever now.”

February 17, 2014
For the Love of Canines: Arthur Part 1

With a new baby and a 16 month old toddler, it was a year and a half before we got another dog. We had the pitter patter of little feet, but not the pitter patter of toenails across the floor, the soft brush of fur, and a wet nose.

While we would have loved to adopt, with two small children we wanted to be sure of temperament. After careful consideration we decided against another Malamute. While we loved Praeses, we wanted a breed that would get along with other dogs. Our choice – Portuguese Water Dog. We researched, visited breeders, clubs, and homes and finally found someone in Ohio that would have a litter ready for new homes about the time school let out. (I was teaching at the time.)

The breeder required a three page application and two letters of recommendations. It was clear from the start that they did this for the love of the breed, not to make money. Our particular pup ended up with an improper coat but that didn’t bother us at all. Go figure. He shed and looked a little different than the other PWDs, but his attitude was all PWD.

I drove out to get him the first week in June. When the door opened, there he was, Haleakala Aka Loekai, Hawaiian for Arthur King of the Sea, sitting politely at the door. Our eyes met, and I knew, he was the one I had been looking for. It felt as if Praeses was staring at me through new eyes. The first thing Arthur did was jump up and grab my braid, just like Debra did when she nursed. It was a bit of foreshadowing that I didn’t realize at the time.

When I mentioned the connection to Praeses’ spirit so to speak, I didn’t mean they were the same. They were as different as night and day. Praeses was snowy with typical malamute patterns. Arthur was jet black with a small white goatee. One was mellow and slow, the other bouncy and fast. Switching from a dominant female that lifted her leg, to a submissive male who squatted had its challenges. The first time I gave the heal command in obedience class; Arthur bounced like a rubber ball. I needed to learn to dial it down a little with him.

The first time I tossed Arthur’s toy, he trotted right back and plopped it in my lap. I was stunned. It was the first time a dog had voluntarily returned anything. Playing catch became a favorite game and Arthur, in his enthusiasm, would run into furniture, walls, and people. Anything in his way was bowled over in his desire to get the toy. He didn’t seem to notice. He very quickly transferred the idea of retrieving to the Frisbee and a little over a week before he began to catch it. His usual habit at that time was to drop the retrieved item on the ground at my feet. A few days after I had had some minor surgery, I looked at him with sad eyes and told him that I couldn’t bend down to pick it up. Arthur understood. He picked up the Frisbee and handed it to me. It was the last time I needed to pick up a toy for him.

Later on Arthur and I gave agility a try and loved it, but classes were too difficult to get to on a regular basis. I set up my own jumps and tunnels in the yard so we would play. Trips to the local lake and playground with the girls became even more exciting. If no one else was around, I would let him climb the ramp to the tower and go down the slide. His tail wagged and his tongue lolled as he played and barked. It took me a while, but I finally realized that if he had a ball in his mouth he couldn’t bark while he ran around.

May 9, 2013
It’s Only A Dog

A fuzzy face and small pink tongue

Little tail swishing back and forth

Joyful exuberance at every greeting

New friend with the trusting eyes

Chasing tails and squirrels alike

Barking, yapping all night long

Scattered papers and chewed remotes

Trash strewn and shredded slippers

Piles and puddles on the floor

Drool and fur even on the door

Stealing food from highest hight

Sickness, always at midnight

Enormous vet bills, headaches, stress

Restless nights with no rest

Endless panting, jumping and yet…

Unconditional love in those trusting eyes

Always glad to see you even on your grumpiest day

Greeting as if you’ve been gone an eternity

Even after only a moment

Lifting you up when sadness abounds

Running in the park and chasing balls

Catching Frisbees

Tongue hanging in joy

Happy days splashing in the lake

Snuggling close into soothing fur

Slowing down

The table’s too high

Silver fur replacing dark

Soft eyes,

A swishing tail

I understand

It’s time to say goodbye

Letting go with a heavy heart

It’s only a dog

Yet so much more

April 27, 2013
For the Love of Canines: Praeses Part 2

After 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 have 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 Annual 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.

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.

March 8, 2013
For the Love of Canines: Praeses Part 1

Several 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 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.

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.

March 2, 2013
For the Love of Canines: 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

January 12, 2013
The Posse

Two days of hard riding with nothing to show but parched throats and dust. Now the red rock of the wall loomed ahead, the perfect spot for the Cheyenne Kid and his gang to pick off the posse. Marshall Briggs pulled up hard on his reins as a figure materialized out of nowhere. The slim woman didn’t flinch as the horse skid to a stop an inch away She looked tired and worn.

“Thank goodness you caught up. They know you’re here and won’t give up their prize lightly.”

A prize. That’s all Kate was to them. Marshall pulled his hat off and raked his wiry hair with enough force to pull some out. He pretended to scan the hills as Kate continued, restraining the urge to respond by grinding his teeth. Only he could see her astral projection. It wouldn’t do to be seen talking to himself. If anything happened to her. . .

“There’s a spot to rest just over the next rise. We need to act now or they’ll kill everyone.”

Seemed the Kid’s gang only understood one language. Marshall dismounted, signaling the rest of the posse to gather around. “I’ll scout ahead. Wait here for my signal.”

Sunshine faded as Kate led Marshall to the hiding place. A moment later Marshall’s spirit slipped from his body and followed her into the Kid’s camp. Kate’s body lay curled in a ragged ball, ropes bound tight. Dirt stained her torn dress. The Kid knelt next to her, running a filthy hand over her cheek. Anger tightened Marshall’s chest and his vision wavered.

Energy swirled around Marshall and he grabbed the Kid by the throat with and icy grip, flinging him across the clearing. The Kid’s eyes widened. All he saw was a freak zephyr spinning across the camp. Five of the gang fell from the cliff. Three more froze to the rocks, no more than human icicles. Even the toughest outlaw has a weakness, and weird stuff didn’t suit the Cheyenne Kid. He screamed and dropped his gun as the ground under his feet rippled, swallowing him to the hips before solidifying.

“Marshall.”

Kate’s voice broke through Marshall’s rage. He saw the Kid struggle and scream in his half grave, even more so when fire leaped to a nearby bush like a living animal. He was hardly a threat in his present state.

“The posse should be along soon, Marshall. I’ll be fine until you get here.”

“I’m sorry I took so long,” said Marshall. He turned away, and then paused. “I love you, Kate. Always have.”

Kate smiled. “I know. Now go back to your body before you dissipate.”

October 26, 2012
Salt and Sails

Cool spray caresses my face and the salt tastes sweet on my lips. The scent of sea air permeates my being. This is my first and only love. I close my eyes and feel the brig as it cuts through the calm waters of the bay. The rise and fall of the waves still send shivers of joy down my spine. Here is where I belong, not bound to the hard unmoving land.

I clutch the two gold bands that hang from my neck. My parents told me I was born in the churning waves of a storm, among the sugar cane and indigo of the hold. They were only passengers on that voyage, and fled the rocking of the ship as soon as they made landfall. But my destiny was established.

Forty years have passed since I ran to my lover disguised as a boy, only days after my parents died. I was twelve, and have never left the embrace of the ocean. Now, as Captain, I sail the same route that bore me, delivering new shipments from the islands to these costal ports.

The days of the brig are almost gone, overtaken by newer ships with smaller crews. But this is my life, my ship. There are no regrets. My heart races through the water like a dolphin and I long for the challenge of sailing into those crimson seas at dawn. Perhaps I’ll leave this world the way I entered, on the roiling waves of the sea.

February 9, 2012
The Rendezvous

There was no moon tonight, which suited Kara just fine. She preferred to stay in the shadows. Out in the woods she felt safe, but this close to people made her nervous. Kara had promised Ethan she would wait here under the streetlamp while he gathered supplies, but she longed for the comfortable feel of her pack mates. Only her overriding need to be with Ethan kept her here.

Until she had found him, bleeding and near death, Kara hadn’t realized she needed human companionship. Maybe it was the eyes, or the soft way he spoke to her as she nursed him back to health, but something awoke in her. Perhaps it was the way he accepted the wolves that had been her only companions these last eight years. Could he hear them the way she could?

Footsteps approached and Kara ducked into the shadows, as skittish as a young wolf, ready to bolt. Relief flooded her as she recognized Ethan, and her heart began to flutter with something more.

“Ethan.” she said, a wolfish whimper slipping into her voice.

“I’m here, Kara,” he said, “now and forever.”

She stepped back into the lamp light and looked up into his brown eyes, longing for his touch. Shivers ran up her spine as he brushed a hand across her cheek. Kara nuzzled into Ethan’s chest and felt his love telegraphed through his beating heart.

He was hers, and she his…for life.

It’s the way of the pack.

January 31, 2012
Love and Devotion

Smooth gray stones burn the pads of my feet and the sun sears from above. My tongue hangs loosely from my mouth as I pant, but it’s dry and cracked, granting me no relief. I long for some shade or damp sand to cool my burning paws, but there is only the dry creek bed and blinding light.

Days ago a stranger took me from my home and left me at the odd den with noisy animals. They took me away from the girl, my girl with the long curls and misshapen paws that feel so soothing as they stroke. The angry man hurt her, hurt our pack, but he’s felt my fangs and can’t harm anyone again. She lay so still when the strangers came and hid her under a sheet. I must find her, keep her safe from others. It’s what keeps me moving past the hunger and thirst.

I close my eyes and picture her smiling face and warm hugs. I remember also my nighttime escape over the chain link fence to find her.

A sudden coolness brushes me. Opening my eyes I see a trickle of water running under my toes and through the stones. The feeling sends shivers all the way to the tip of my tail. I don’t notice the roar until it crashes into me. As I am tossed in the water I know I will never see my girl again.

Yet I feel her arms embrace me as darkness encompasses.

January 25, 2012