a day at the beach

The work is a mile high at school: a hiring committee, a lecture on my relationship to art histort, a panel on working as an artist, and 2 classes that overenrolled. M’s birthday was this past weekend and his gift was an overnight at the coast. For me that means many hours of preparation to leave the house in suitable shape with clear instructions for the care of the animals left behind.

But we had a swell time and the cabin we stayed in, right on the ocean, allowed dogs, so Maudie had her first trip to the beach.
We inspired her to a few moments of zooming and then she settled in to walk right beside us, only veering off to inspect the grasses at the edge of the sand for a moment or two before coming back. Like the corgis she insisted on finding a spot inside the grass and way off the beach itself on which to poop…I imagine it’s the same impulse that makes the herding breeds so easy to house train.

We thought of Gussie a lot. It would have been lovely to have him there too, and he would have had a great time. M talked about sitting with him inside his coat on a cold day at the beach. The paps love the beach as well as any other dog…and probably more than Maudie, but Maudie is an ideal traveling companion and measures her joy by how much she brings to us. To see her in that beautiful light was magical.

I have been thinking about breeds in relation to M. I hate the idea of his dropping out of the training world without Gus; I have loved having him be a part of it with me; we could share experiences in conversation as well as in actuality. It was fun to go to shows together and I loved watching him work with Gus in class. He may not be able to work another papillon—which is one response to his loss—and it gives me a chance to dip into the other breeds that HE loves: big poodles, little dachshunds and to think about the way he trains and the temperament and height that might bring him a different kind of engagement than Gus did. Because on Gus’ terms…he would be damn nigh impossible to beat…or match.

There is always the prospect of another collie, a stellar match. Although I am partial to roughs, if it were up to me I’d go for a smooth tri…. because I like smoothes best as tris and because I find the rough coat a little overwhelming. But it wouldn’t be up to me.

snow storm

December 21 2009. the wind was blowing, the snow just kept coming; in the end we had about a foot. On this day we walked down to Gabriel Park for burritos.

missing gus

We’ve stepped into January; the snow melted and turned to rain and it just keeps coming. The yard is soupy and covered with fallen sticks and leaves and the general rot of winter in our moderate climate. Funny thing is that the papillons will go out in it…but Maudie has to be pushed…she just does not like to get wet…Whereas Flynn used to back up in horror at the sight of rain, she now goes mincing out to potty pretty easily; Sonny barrels out and then barrels back in. Maudie looks stricken….

Gus’s absence is strange and deep. There is a clear feeling of being one less; the hole he used to fill is fuzzy and large. I miss his feathery little body curled up next to me, his perfect silky coat cool white and coal black with rusty thumbprints on his brow and cheeks. I even miss that odd smell of metal and spit he gave off these last months. I miss the way he would dance around all bossy and excited to get a cookie or be told how fine and handsome he was while getting a back scratch. I miss the top of his head where the white hairs of his head mingled with the black, and instead of being clearly delineated, they meshed. I miss his upturned bridge and his tiny front teeth. I miss the way his front feet folded when he rolled on his back for a tummy scratch…the fur on his fragile forearm that seemed always to be growing back after being shaved, the bright pink or purple vet tape that held the gauze to the vein that had been punctured for a sample or a tube. The little brown map that was left on the gauze after the tape was rolled off. I even miss how quiet it is when I and the other 3 dogs go to bed. He would already be there with Mark and would get in a snit about us disturbing them.

It’s that physical absence of a dog that is so painful. The feel of them, the smell, the sound conjures tears and an ache of loss. Our relationships are so about being physical and close, touch and smell. We watch them poop, they follow us into the bathroom too. There is no shame; there is just a being in the world together. And when one is gone, certain ease goes with it…a dance partner has bowed out…a team member folded, a comforter gone cold.