Everyday is A Gift

My mother called me the other day to ask about my dog.  She has two dogs and is an animal lover. I was worried she may be hoarding animals, but two cats and two dogs do not make up a "hoard". Her question was easy to answer, Scruffy the Poodle is old and I answer anyone who asks: " every day with him is a gift."  You see, he is quite an old poodle. I don't know how old to be exact, but he's been with me for 13 years and he was already an adult when I found him wandering the streets of South Dade.  Scruffy was a feral poodle.

I often tell people that there are packs of feral poodles running behind Bloomingdales at the Falls Shopping Center, taking down unsuspecting South Dade matrons and mauling them. Scruffy the Poodle is not a particularly outstanding poodle. He's basically a piece of white cotton candy with three dots for a face. Two dark eyes and a small black nose that are not particularly expressive. Yet it's that simple lack of expressiveness that makes him see more toy-like and adorable. He has always walked on wobbly, unbending legs which makes him look like he's a wind-up toy. He's small, I never realize how small until I see him with other dogs, because to me he's seems to be the perfect dog for the city. He's not yappy or aggressive and never has been. He has the uncanny ability to dislike the same people I do, especially certain close relatives. (If he growls at you, rest assured I don't like you either.)

Recently the vet suggested "I prepare myself" for "the inevitable".  I've calculated that he has spent about 14,000 hours sitting in my lap or sleeping in my arms. In his lifetime we've easily walked 7,000 miles together and he's been a true friend every step of the way. Now , he's sleeping about 18 hours a day, right at my feet. His little legs twitch as he dreams. 

I recently read a book called "Old Dogs" by  Gene Weingarten and Michael S. Williamson. It was an homage to the dogs that have spent their lives as our faithful companions. It is quite a touching in it's simplicity, describing the animal in it's peak and then how it has earned it's spot on a front porch, lawn or corner of the den.  Soulful eyes and an occasional bark to remind us that, hey! I'm still here, still here for you. From the day I found him to our last day together, Scruffy.....every day is a gift. 

Politeness

Hello Friends:

I'd like to thank Kevin for his actual surprise that I feel politeness is important. Since returning to the "rudest city in America" I can really appreciate how politeness and good manners can really make your day and how one simple rude remark can ruin it. Kevin may remember a time when my acerbic wit, and painful, albeit truthful, observations were directed at him. What I didn't know was the that the undiagnosed diabetes in combination with my antidepressants really made me a bitch, and for that I apologize.

Now that I have my blood suger under control and I've increased dosages of my other meds, the voices in my head that pointed out small flaws in the people around me have quieted down. Thank goodness I don't feel the need to point out cheap shoes, bad taste or recent weight gain to the people I care about. I assume they felt bad enough about it without me having to rub salt in those wounds.

So Alfredo and I have a system for addressing rudeness. We train people to be polite, everyday. How? Well, in our building nobody would say good morining. So when we leave for work, we make a point to greeting everyone as they leave. At first thier mouths would strain and mumble a "buenos dias" or a "good morning." I could sense the deepest pain in their souls at having to utter these words. After a year of this they avoid us completely or when they feel cornered they blurt out a hearty "Buenos Dias!" even before my greeting. I am quite proud of the work we've done here.

Today's Hiaku

Good Morning, Hello
Her jaw is locked at dawn
Buenos Dias, gringo