Dog Days

Stories of dogs in this author's life. Also, a dog story from Caitanya Mahaprabhu's time.

Dog Days

 

Once upon a time there did live

a most liberal and generous man.

of the name Sivananda Sena

renowned throughout the land.

So great and kind and generous his deeds

on his journeys hale and hearty.

For an outing into the countryside

their transcendental party.

Bring with him all the pilgrims did he

and take care of all their needs.

As they joined together along the way

and performed great generous deeds.

Then journeyed on along their way

to the place where their Lord did stay.

Now back in those golden days of yore

dogs were not always given much welcome.

Nor considered to be man’s best friend

and never let inside one’s door.

Well kind Mr. Sena had not a single mean bone

not anywhere in his whole body.

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A kind and generous man was he

filled with love and virtuosity.

Well it so happened that a certain dog

fortunate indeed was he.

Tagged along to become a part of

the transcendental traveling party.

With Mr. Sena always careful to see

the dog was well cared for and fed.

At night finding his place nearby

where he could rest his canine head.

Well by and by the pilgrims did come

to a river flowing wide.

At a crossing there hired a boatman

to carry them over to the other side.

The boatman not a lover of dogs he

refused to ship the hound.

To take him where the party was bound.

Mr. Sena did humbly implore the man

not giving up easily, he.

And offered the boatman an extra fee

to which he agreed quite readily.

Well by and by it came to pass

Mr. Sena became waylaid.

By a toll man who insisted

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that the toll he owed be paid.

And in the confusion that followed that day

his servant not feeding the pup.

When Mr. Sena returned at last

was ready for his evening sup.

He knew the time for feeding the dog

was by hours long since past.

And wondered if any had fed the poor dog

of each person he did ask.

But no one there did raise their hand

and Mr. Sena feeling quite sad.

the most unhappy man in the whole land.

He then called out for the dog

knowing how he must hunger.

Ordering ten men to search high and low

as the sky began to thunder.

But none could find him on that night

though they tried with all their might.

Mr. Sena said he would not eat

and fasted all through the night.

In the morning they again looked all around

but the dog he couldn’t be found.

Mr. Sena feeling most anxious

when they couldn’t find the hound.

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As the party drew closer on that day

in anticipation as they rounded each bend.

To  meet with Krsna Caitanya their Lord

as they neared their journey’s end.

Well just imagine their pleasant surprise              

as they met their Lord

like a balm for weary eyes.

To find the dog sitting near the Lord

on that most auspicious day.

The dog sitting up happy and alert

the Lord smiling in His own way.

And throwing the dog bits of food

the remnants from His very own tray.

The dog chanting the holy names

and eating bits of coconut pulp.

Swallowing each piece down whole

all in one great gulp.

Krsna! Krsna! He chanted with glee

following Caitanya’s order.

With Mr. Sena quite amazed

and most relieved to see.

The dog acting on that day

so transcendentally.

Happy he’d found his place at last

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with a truly worthy master.

And bowed before the dog that day

in all humility.

Begging forgiveness for neglecting him

Liberated by Sri Caitanya.

Jai Sri Gaurahari!

 

I had a nice place directly across the parkway from the Hare Krsna temple. The temple over time

becoming something of a local landmark. It was hard to miss. Three stories tall and painted bright yellow. With a sign out front that read: International Society for Krsna Consciousness. Founder Acarya His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. Love Feast Every Sunday 4 P.M. Everyone welcome.

                Bidwell Parkway and the surrounding neighborhood was once home to the aristocratic class. But with the passage of time it had become a neighborhood in transition. Which was Realtor speak for going to seed. With some properties undergoing renovation and others gliding downward. The fact was, most had already seen better days. And the lower they went the more dogs you’d see. Practically all the karmis kept at least one. They were everywhere. Barking and baring their teeth from behind wooden and chain linked fences. Letting you know they were in charge of their little plot of turf. For cheap entertainment groups of mean kids would taunt and tease them when they got bored. Shaking the fences and throwing stones at them when they passed by.

                As a kid I thought a dog would add something exciting or fulfill some undefined need in my life. A sentiment that carried over into my adult life. An unfounded need not exactly rooted in rational thought. Which is to say, what did I need with a dog? I couldn’t really explain it. I envisioned my faithful dog fetching my slippers and dutifully warning me of bill collectors at the door. Even though I had no slippers and I yet hadn’t earned the attention of angry creditors.

                I had to admit that my own luck with dogs was pretty thin. I was nervous around them and they could sense it. Making it difficult for me to bond with them the way others did. The smaller breeds seemed obnoxious. No lap dogs for me. And the larger ones were intimidating. Any dog of mine would have to know who was boss.

                As a kid our family pet dog was a neurotic bundle of nerves. She disappeared one day after breaking free from her leash. Running into the woods. Barking and howling. Perhaps answering the call of the wild.

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                After that Robert said no more dogs. Or cats or anything else we might make pets out of. Only later did he reluctantly agree to allow us some fish and turtles. And when he remarried, some tiny caged finches that came home with his new wife. But he would make no compromise on anything with four legs. No hamsters, ferrets, dogs or cats.

                Maybe that explains why I wanted my own dog so badly. Like the drunk who’s given 30 days in the slammer for his drunken antics. The whole time he’s locked up all he can think of is how that first swallow will taste as it rolls down his throat and hits the stomach. Eyes squinting with the burning rush that nearly takes one’s breath away. There was nothing else like it. Like becoming reacquainted with an old friend.

                While walking around the neighborhood loose dogs could be trouble. With several harrowing encounters when I was forced to make a run for it. Seeking emergency refuge atop parked cars to escape roaming packs of neighborhood dogs. And once having to shoot a big, mean dog that climbed up after me.

                Friends had dogs that were like family members. Which further whetted my interest in having a companion dog. I answered ads that offered dogs to good homes. Though never really certain what constituted a good home. No matter, no one ever refused my offer to take their dog. Their minds already made up to give Spot to the first taker. Justifying the canine giveaway by telling me I looked like a decent young fellow. We’re sure you’ll provide him a good home. And me, never asking why they were so eager to abandon the family pet to the care of a complete stranger.

                A dog whisperer I wasn’t. Most of the dogs I acquired were prone to run off or couldn’t be trained. At least not by me. Others displayed a doggie fetish for digging holes in the lawns of neighbors. Or chewed uncontrollably on shoes and furniture. Still others loved to pick fights. Constantly lunging at other dogs while out for their morning walk. Mostly they were mutts without any pedigree. Strange mixes of other mixes. More or less like the world around me.

                It occurred to me that I might do better with a younger dog. A pup who hadn’t yet developed any neurotic behavior and could be properly trained at the puppy stage. I went to the library and checked out a few books on dog training. I read each of them carefully. I asked friends and neighbors for doggie advice. Some claimed certain dogs were easier to train than others. Everyone I asked held a different view. A lot of it depended on the individual dog. It was confusing.

                Finding a dog was easy enough. The papers were filled with giveaway offers for puppies. Your pick of the litter. Free for the taking. Two streets over a neighbor had a sign on the front lawn. Free puppies. I stopped by to look them over. Six furry rambunctious balls with legs. I selected a cute pup whom I named Skin Man. Barely weaned when I collected him. I tried following the instructions given in the training books. Skin Man didn’t agree with any of it. The harder I tried the more he resisted. My meager training skills were useless on him. He cried all night and ran in circles all day. Resisting all

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attempts to discipline him.

                The twin girls who lived next store saw me out back with Skin Man one afternoon. They asked if they could come over to play with the pup. Yes indeed. Come on over. I fixed lemonade prasadam and we made an afternoon of it. The next day the twins brought some more friends. Before long Skin Man had a troupe of children fussing over him.

                The kids were playing Blackbeard the Pirate early one Saturday afternoon when Skin Man somehow broke free and ran out into the street. The kids shrieking and running after him. Skin Man loving it until he ran under the wheels of a passing car. An old Volkswagen driven by a man that lived a few streets down. The Volkswagen’s right rear wheel doing irreparable damage. Crushing Skin Man beneath it. Dying in my arms as his sad, frightened eyes looked into mine. The car driver stopping and rushing over. Mama mia, I no see him a-run out. I’m a-so sorry. Oh the poor doggie. Hari bol, Skin Man. And with a soulful last whimper Skin Man expired. The children devastated by the jolting reality of sudden death.

                The next day I called the children over and told them we’d have a funeral for Skin Man. I saw it as a way to ease his traumatic departure and to bring a more peaceful sense of closure to it all. Some of the kids’ parents thought that might be a good thing, too.

                I fashioned a little coffin from a cardboard box salvaged from a local grocery store. Wrapping the outside with white paper and affixing small pictures of other animals like deer, bears, dogs and cats to the outside. Drawing halos on all of them. To indicate they had all gone to animal heaven.

                We placed the coffin box on a red wagon one of the kids brought over. I told them that today would have been Skin Man’s birthday. Which of course it wasn’t. But I figured the birthday song was the only song all the kids knew. So we marched in an impromptu procession in my back yard. Singing a soulful, blues version of the happy birthday song. Several times over. And a chorus of Hari, Hari Bol. And then it was ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. A short spiel about the spirit of Skin Man going on to heaven. The body of Skin Man went down into the ground. I placed his leash atop his cardboard coffin and told the kids they could place something they used in their play with Skin Man to help him along on his way to the doggie afterlife. One of the kids threw in a rubber ball. Little Joey from 2 doors down put half of his cookie in with him. And so on. Then we covered him up with dirt and sang the happy birthday song one last time. And a surreptitious chorus of Hari Bol. Later, Joey’s mother admonished me saying I’d likely ruined every successive birthday for her little boy. Because now whenever someone sings that goddamn birthday song he’ll be reminded of death. It was a pity I couldn’t think of everything.

                I was looking through an old photo album when I came upon the picture of an old friend. With all the emotions and imagery of the time immediately coming back into focus. Each picture mystically capturing the moment to conjure up unlimited memories. I had to laugh as I remembered Marie’s famous deathbed appeal. Imploring me to please take care of her dog. Bruno. One look and you could see he was different. No doubt the biggest German Shepherd mixed breed I’d ever seen. With a head

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and mane more like a lion than a dog.

                Marie explained that a neighbor friend was temporarily keeping Bruno. But time was running out. The friend’s husband was losing patience with the dog and no longer keen on boarding him. Hinting that if someone else didn’t step up to take the dog…Marie fearing the worst. The dog pound would likely be his next stop. That would be more than she could bear. Bruno was like her child. And not the sort of dog that would be readily adopted. He’ll wind up getting gassed at the pound. I just know it. Besides, she said. You’re good with animals. Bruno will take to you and be a loyal friend.

                I protested as best I could. Where did she get the idea that I was good with animals? Dogs had an aversion to me. Cats hissed at me. What makes you think he’ll even like me? I started to say more when Marie started crying. Her brown eyes streaming tears. Please, Tommy. I don’t know who else to turn to. I couldn’t stand for Bruno to be with strangers or put to sleep. Please. Do me this one last favor.

                How could I say no to a crying woman on her deathbed? Okay. I’ll do what I can. Marie gave me a hug and told me where I could gather up all his doggie stuff. Oh. And one last thing. Bruno doesn’t like uniforms. He always used to give the mailman a hard time.

                I drove over to the neighbor’s place. Marie’s friend said Bruno was in the storage shed around back. She handed me a plastic bag filled with Bruno’s stuff. A thick chrome plated leash. Doggie pills for worms. Powder for fleas. Clippers to cut his nails. And so on. Good luck with him.

                I walked around to the back of the yard. A typical scene. A small concrete patio. Some cheap lawn furniture and a small storage shed. I carefully opened the shed door a crack. Inside it was doggie hell. Bruno was laying at one end next to an ancient push lawn mower. No water or food. The smell of dog poop was overpowering.

                As I opened the door Bruno’s ears perked up. Hey Bruno. Wary eyes set into a massive head stared out at me. A perplexed look on his face. The sort of expression that said, hey dude. I called room service over an hour ago. What took you so long?

                Reluctance aside, this wasn’t my first rodeo. Before driving over I had the foresight to stop off at a local pet shop/supply store. I asked the girl at the counter what she had to help make friends with a new dog. She pointed to a display of Dr. Barksmore’s doggie treats. She said all the dogs loved them. Feed him a few of these and he’ll be your friend for life.

                I gave the doggie treats the once over. A picture of a grinning Dr. Barksmore on the box. Surrounding him were dogs of every variety and breed. All seeming happy and contented. I checked the price. At ten bucks a pop it was priced like doggie caviar. I wondered…If this stuff was so good why hadn’t I heard of it before? Maybe what I was looking for was a more scientific  answer. But what did I know? My rational side telling me this wasn’t the time for pinching pennies or procrastination. I grabbed two boxes and headed out.

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                Armed with Dr. Barksmore’s goodies I felt a sudden surge of confidence. Never mind how badly my last encounter with a friend’s German Shepherd had gone. Where his monster Shepherd ate two buttons and half of one cuff on my shirt. Right after his owner casually told me don’t worry. He doesn’t bite. He’s just trying to get to know you. A close encounter with snapping teeth that I didn’t want to repeat. I took it as an important lesson. Never put too much stock in what a dog’s owner says. Because in the end the dog will make up its own mind about you.

                I plucked one of the Doctor’s treats from my jacket and held it out to Bruno with an open hand. Here, Bruno. Hey, big fella. You hungry? Bruno making a deep, rumbling, primeval sound. Something like wuff, but in a much lower octave. He came over to check me out. His breath hot on my fingers as he sniffed my hand and the treat. Once he was satisfied he deftly snatched the treat from my hand with a set of extraordinary teeth set into a massive jaw. Not at all like a hungry barbarian. Rather, with the lightness and precision of a skilled surgeon removing a Tootsie-roll from a mine field.

                Did you like that, boy? I detected the beginnings of a tail wag. I handed Bruno another of the Doctor’s sure-fire treats. Again Bruno carefully took it from my hand. Good boy. I showed Bruno his leash and asked him if he’d like to get paroled from the shed. It was a no-brainer. He held his big head up slightly to allow me to attach the leash to his collar. It wasn’t Bruno’s first rodeo either. Come on, boy. Let’s go see the world.

                I brought Bruno over to the back yard garden hose and turned on the water. After it started flowing cool I cupped my hands to let the water pool and Bruno knew what to do. He lapped up the water for several minutes. Then I took him for a little walk. To give him more time to get used to being with me.  And to give him a chance to do his doggie business.

                We walked along Richmond Avenue toward Bidwell Parkway. At Colonial Circle a pack of loose dogs were jumping and playing. Sniffing bushes and marking their territory. In the circle’s center atop a raised pedestal stood a large bronze statue of Brigadier General Bidwell, the Parkway’s namesake. The heroic general astride his war horse, saber in hand. The great general having risen from the rank of Private to that of Brigadier General during the Civil War. And meeting his own end at the Battle of Cedar Creek, Virginia, in 1864 at the age of 45.

                When Bruno spotted the dog pack he raised his massive head slightly. Giving them the stare down. They looked back, raising their tails. I braced myself. Taking a firm grip on his leash. Waiting for Bruno to launch. Maybe capture one in his massive jaw and shake it silly. To set an example for the rest. But he never did. He didn’t have to. He hardly paid them any mind. Instead he made some low growling noises. Letting them know the boss was here. The other dogs knew to steer clear of him. Then he held his head up and stuck his big chest forward. Strutting down the Parkway with confidence. Bruno already knew who the big dog was.

                I gave Bruno two more doggie treats. Just for being cool. Then I spread a sheet onto the front seat of the Caddy I’d recently bought. A 1949 coupe with electric windows and a long sloping roofline.

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A beauty waiting for a caring hand to restore her.

                Bruno made himself at home in the front seat. When we rolled onto the Scajaquada Expressway I let the passenger window down. Bruno’s cue to put his massive head into the wind. Putting memories of the cramped storage shed behind him. Happy to feel the rushing wind in his face.

                I was in no particular hurry so we tooled around on the outer belt for a bit. Then onto the Youngman Expressway. A veterinarian friend had a practice in Williamsville. When I got off the Expressway I gave him a call. Could I stop over with a dog? He said no problem. Come on by. We’ll fit him in.

                We stopped at a traffic light in Williamsville when an Amherst motorcycle cop pulls up beside us. He’s looking us over. Checking out the antique Caddy. And all the while Bruno is checking him out. And then his ears go up. That’s when I remembered Marie’s admonition about Bruno not liking uniforms. Suddenly he’s growling and showing his teeth. My insides churning. Praying for the light to please turn green. That’s when the cycle cop made a big mistake. Making eye contact with Bruno. It was on. Bruno lunged for him. The cop’s eyes suddenly large as saucers as his look of confidence dissolved into panicked fear.  At the last second I caught Bruno’s leash and barely managed to save the cop from being swallowed whole. The cop hollering keep that dog back. Then speeding off as the light turned. I gave Bruno another doggie treat. Good boy.

                My veterinarian friend said he’d never seen a dog like Bruno. He couldn’t figure out what other breed was mixed in with the German Shepherd. Maybe something Russian. The odd combination giving Bruno his extra big head and lion’s mane. He figured Bruno to be around four or five years old. Healthy and in his prime. Bruno stayed calm throughout the examination. He knew who he could trust.

                Bruno kept the wind in his face the entire way home. Shaking off being cooped up in the cramped storage shed for a week. I could commiserate with him. Knowing what it was like to be confined to a small space for months on end. Later to become decades. Yearning to have the wind in my own face one last time.

                When we got home I took Bruno to the back yard where I kept an old cast iron free standing bath tub. The kind with decorative feet. Come on, Bruno. We’ve gotta wash out your doggie odor and storage shed smell.

                I brought out two ten gallon containers of warm water. Mixed in with Bruno’s things I found a bottle of flea shampoo and some conditioner. Okay Bruno. I patted the side of the tub. Come on, boy. Bruno gave me a look. As if to say, I don’t do tricks on an empty stomach. Oh. I tossed Bruno one of Barksmore’s treats and pointed toward the tub. Bruno hopped right in. Good boy. We wet and lathered three times. Then for the final rinse off with the garden hose. Bruno enjoyed it all. Playfully snapping at the water as it streamed out of the hose. I think we were bonding.

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                The freshly bathed Bruno was a sight to behold. A truly handsome creature. Now to find him something to eat. I didn’t know what his preferences were but in my house he’d be eating prasadam. I took my leftovers and blended one of the doctor’s treats into it. Bruno gave it a cursory sniff and chowed down.

                I still had no idea about keeping him. The details of where he’d sleep or answer nature’s call hadn’t yet occurred to me. That’s when I realized how bringing Bruno into my ordered life would be a lot like caring for a small child. Always under foot. Having to dote on and anticipate his needs.

                Early the next morning Bruno was standing by the foyer door. Wuff. Wuff. What is it? Oh. You want to go out. Okay. I get it. I put a few of the Doctor’s treats in my jacket pocket. Hooked together on his leash we jogged the few blocks to Delaware Park. Two girls out for their morning run spotted Bruno. Oh wow! Look at him! What a cool looking doggie. Is he friendly? I handed the girls each one of the Doctor’s treats. This will win him over. The girls carefully handed Bruno the treats. He smelled their hands and wagged his tail. Then they fearlessly reached forward and began to ruffle his big mane. Bruno loved it. Maybe Bruno preferred the company of girls. Like he sensed their vibes were somehow different.

                Because of our close proximity to the park our daily jaunts there became a regular thing. By the second week Bruno had become something of a park celebrity. People jogging or riding past on their bicycles would call out, Hey Bruno! Everyone loved him. With Bruno digging all the attention. As for me, I was just the guy on the opposite end of Bruno’s leash. It was a bit weird.

                Some time later I was attending the Allentown Art Festival. A big weekend bash where for a small fee non-commercial vendors could get a sidewalk spot to display their hand crafted wares or whatever else they had going on. Some of the Krsna devotees had a booth set up with Srila Prabhupada’s books on display. Plates of complementary prasadam. Cool lemonade drinks. Engaging passersby with warmth and kindness.

                Whenever Bruno was around the Krsna devotees he was calm and submissive. Letting the kids poke and prod him. Not getting upset when his hair or ears were tugged a bit too hard. Taking it all in stride like a patient grandfather. He was a different person whenever he was near the devotees.

                At a pink trimmed booth a large gangly somebody with a long neck and big protruding Adam’s Apple, fashionably attired in a frilly pink outfit, platinum blond wig, black pumps and twenty or more ear and nose piercings spotted Bruno. Oh geezz what a big doggie he is. Isn’t he adorable. What’s his name? Can I pet him? He won’t bite will he? Okay. Uh…His name is Bruno. He’s usually pretty friendly…

                Bruno sniffed the air around the booth. Checking out the dude in the pink costume. Pinky reached out to give Bruno a friendly pat on his head. Then at the last second pulling back as he thought better of it. Maybe it was something about Bruno’s eyes that made Pinky hesitate. Bruno took a step

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forward and growled. Uh oh. Nice doggie.

                In a flash Bruno snapped at Pinky and tore off a piece of his outfit. With Pinky loudly shrieking. Oh no! Oh no! A small crowd began to gather. Taking in the fun filled scene. Bruno with no real interest in biting him. He only wanted to back him off a taste. Seeming to sense how far was too far. And maybe a bit more for added effect. Shaking his big head with the hem of the frilly pink thing in his chops. The people in Bruno’s audience laughed until their sides hurt.

                We moved on to check out more of the festival. With a tighter hold on Bruno’s leash. When we neared Elmwood Avenue Bruno started to excitedly wag his tail. Shaking his big head and pulling on his leash. What is it, Bruno? There at a macramé booth was a ghost. But maybe not a ghost at all. It was Marie. And certainly not withered up or dead. Instead very much alive. Smoking a long cigarette and talking to a dude wearing a Hells Angels patch on a dungaree vest. A faded Harley hat on his bearded head. A guy I’d once seen slapping a girl around outside a local bar.

                I stood flatfooted looking at Marie. Well I’ll be…Bruno nuzzled up next to her as Marie ruffled his big mane. Beside herself with joy. Oh Bruno! Bruno! We stood there like that a minute or more. The biker dude giving me the creeps. I bent forward and whispered to Bruno, Mailman. Bruno checking out the biker dude. Perhaps calculating things in his doggie mind. The beginnings of a rumbling growl issuing forth. I gave up the slack on Bruno’s leash. To give him a better start. One thousand one…One thousand two…I pulled back just as Bruno was an inch from the dude’s throat. Not enough to hurt him but sufficient to put him on the ground and the fear of God in him. The biker dude visibly shaken. Bruno still growling and showing his teeth. Jesus Christ, mister. Get ahold of your f****n’ dog. I’m so sorry, sir. He’s usually such a friendly dog. I don’t know what came over him. I don’t think he likes you. I don’t know how much longer I can hold him.

                There were a hundred things I wanted to say to Marie. But none of it seemed to matter. Marie with Bruno’s big head in her hands. Ruffling his ears up and down. Oh Bruno. Tears welling up in her eyes. Bruno wagged his tail and whined in jubilation. Marie wiped away her tears. You see, she said. I always knew you two would make a great pair.