Canines, Felines and Political Preference

Cats are socialists. Dogs are libertarians.

• - A dog will die to protect you. The cat will hide till it's all over.
• - Your dog is glad you're home. The cat wonders why it took you so long to get there and why his supper bowl is still empty.
• - Your dog will bring you your slippers. The cat will pee in them if you still haven't filled his supper bowl.
• - Your dog will fetch the ball. The cat plays with the ball till it rolls under something and then will sit and wait for you to fetch it.
•  - Your dog wants you to feel good about yourself. Your cat wants you to make him feel good about himself. 
• - Dogs have family. Cats have staff.

 © 2017 by Tom King

Sympathy from a Bulldog

Today was the first day I manged to walk the 3 mile loop around the neighborhood that Daisy and I used to walk for exercise. I tried to do it a couple of times before, but always turned back. It just didn't feel right without Daisy snuffling along by my side. It was just too sad and I couldn't stand it.

Today I made the loop successfully and as I came down the last stretch, someone came out to meet me. I'm not sure what her name is, Princess or something, but she'd come out of her yard before when Daisy and I walked by. She is overweight, old and infirm; an American bulldog as sweet as you could ask for. Just getting down the hill from her yard left her panting and exhausted. But she was a game little thing and always wanted to follow Daisy and I on our walk. I used to keep a spare leash in my pocket in case we met her and had to walk her back home when she inevitably followed us. I'd return her to her family so they could take her in so she couldn't wander off after us again. I was kind of afraid she'd have a heart attack if she tried to keep up. She certainly wanted to go with us, though.

Today she spotted me and came waddling down the hill to meet me. I stopped and the two of us sat down in the little drainage ditch and I scratched the back of her head and talked to her. I explained about Daisy not being with me anymore. She rubbed her big slobbery head against me and seemed to be offering me her sympathy. I walked back to her front door and got her safely home, then I turned homeward again. I felt lonelier, but in an odd way better.

My hands smelled pretty doggy and when I got home I washed them, almost regretfully. I have this feeling God nudged the old girl out to drainage ditch because this lonely old guy was missing his friend today and needed a sweet old doggy head to scratch. It would be just like God to do that.

© 2016 by Tom King

It's Easy to Tell When You Meet Dog People

It's easy to tell dog people from regular people. Two dog people can meet along the road, walk together for a half hour and have a pleasant conversation and part not knowing each others' names - although they will know the names of each others' dogs, their ages, breed, general health and what tricks they can do. There are also a few odd things that they do:

• They talk baby talk to their dogs
• They tell you what their dogs are saying
• They will walk their dog 3 miles a day when, given the choice, they'd prefer to take a nap.
• They sleep curled up at an odd angle and take muscle relaxants for their back pain so the dogs have room at the foot of the bed. 
• They will spend 20 minutes washing and fixing their face and primping their clothes in the morning and then let the dog jump up on them and lick their faces on the way out the door because they feel so guilty leaving him behind.
• They will eat carnival hot dogs and taco truck burritos but will only buy the high protein, corn free, hypo-allergenic dog chow the vet sells for $48 a bag for their "babies".
• They post 20-30 pictures and videos of their pups on the Internet in a single week.

We dog people believe we understand dog language and that they understand baby talk. We are unable to resist sad puppy eyes and if we're elderly, we spend more on the dog than we used to spend on our kids.

Just something I've observed. I have to go sit in my chair now, though. Miss Daisy wants a cuddle. She weighs 80 pounds and thinks she's a chihuahua. Oh, well, who can resist those sad puppy eyes?

 
© 2014 by Tom King

I'm in Trouble Again - and So's the Dog!

What did I do?

I decided to be honest and speak my mind. The second part was where things went wrong.I live with my lovely wife, just the two of us for the first time in our lives in a carriage house apartment in Puyallup, Washington in the midst of a cottonwood swamp with ducks, deer and a plague of angry squirrels. The dog loves it. The wife's got a little cabin fever going. She's decided that she therefore needs to clean every square inch of the house at least once or twice a day. Okay that's an exageration. It's twice or three times a week, but every day she sets these impossible goals for herself.

Her health is poor, but she has a terrible fear that she's going to not be able to clean her house anymore and she has the great misfortune of living with two impossibly filthy creatures - me and the dog! It gets a little hot in the afternoon when she realizes she's in pain and her daily cleaning goals have not been met.

Daisy (right) with the amorous Sheltie who
runs loose in the neighborhood and follows
us on our walk hoping to get lucky
(not likely since Daisy's trip to the vet).

So the dog and I go for a walk with some of the neighborhood strays (Left), because it's just better not to hang around and say stupid things like, "Why don't you sit down and rest for awhile?" To a clean freak such a suggestion is insulting.  And you NEVER insult a clean freak in the midst of her freaking.

When we got back I washed the dog down before I went back to work. My Sweet Baboo has a basket full of towels and washcloths by the kitchen door. My job is to wash every crevice of the dog's feet, legs and to remove all dirt from the dog's fir. Finally, I have to wash her butt with warm soapy water. The love of my life, when she's in a manic cleaning phase is pretty certain that I do not do these things adequately because I apparently do not care about the cleanliness of the house.

So I missed a patch of dirt on the dog's belly when we came in and she carried it into the bedroom and left a smudge on the carpet beside the bed when she laid down. I thus confirmed Mrs. King's low opinion of my attitude toward cleanliness. I scrubbed up the spot, vacuumed everywhere the dog had been and apologized, pointing out, quite correctly, that I did not skip the dirty spot on purpose.

Daisy and I are now sitting in the corner thinking about what we have done.

© 2014 by Tom King

Is Your Dog Stupid? Maybe Not

My cousin Jeff Fong with his genius
dogs, Sam and Twist*

This article in Yahoo News purports to name the 5 least intelligent dog breeds.

I don't think this list is quite correct in it's assessment of dog intelligence. It names Basset Hounds, Irish Setters, Weimaraners, Pugs and last, and probably most controversial, Chihuahuas as the dogs with the lowest intelligence.  I was surprised Beagles didn't make the list. They usually do. Our beagle, Suzy, wasn't stupid. Oh, in some respects, she had the intellectual awareness of a bag of rocks, but she could track down a butterfly in a flower patch, she had such a keen sense of smell. And she was fiercely loyal to us. I call that smart, if not in a sit up, roll over and fetch kind of way.

Intelligence in humans is multi-faceted. One can have verbal intelligence, mathematical intelligence (measured by an IQ test) or social intelligence (politicians/actors/social climbers), kinesthetic intelligence (movement in space like for atheletes), musical intelligence, visual spatial intelligence (the kind artists, architects and sculptors have) and self-awareness (philosophers/preachers/psychologists), to name a few brands of smartness.

I think dog intelligence varies by type as well with some dogs having strengths in some areas and some in others. Some dogs are pack animals who respond well to training by a human alpha-dog. My dog is like that and is content, not challenging me for dominance. She trains very well and is also prey driven so she loves little rewards and needs lots of work to do. Many breeds, like chihuahuas especially, are instinctively driven by a need to BE the alpha dog which makes them little beasts to train. The cute factor makes them vulnerable to mishandling and spoiling by their owners. They also are one person dogs, tending to be drawn to the one person in the house that won't challenge them for dominance - hence their bad rep. It could be argued that chihuahuas are quite smart to know how to have figured out how to become king of their domain in a world where everybody is bigger than they are.

Some dogs are fiercely loyal to their pack and that factor makes them amazing protectors of their family. Other dogs are merely territorial and that makes them good at guarding your property, but they'll likely require a firm hand if you don't want them to eat the mailman.  So dog intelligence as assessed by dog intelligence experts, should probably factor in a great deal more than a measure of how obnoxious or how trainable the animal may be.

In some ways individual dog intelligence is more a measure of the "fit" between dog and human and how that makes us perceive them. One man's stupid Irish Setter is another man's bright, loyal and playful companion on long rambles in the countryside. Dog intelligence lists may be based more on our prejudices for behavioral traits than on real intellectual capacity. My dog is thick as a brick about some things like breaking off a chase, but I do believe she knows a startling number of words and phrases and that her stubborness is more about her love of the chase than about disobedience.

In humans it's easy to see how we differ in abilities. My wife, for instance, can hear a baby cry and know instantly what the child wants. Me, I don't get babies at all, but turn me loose on a broken water faucet or repairing my balky computer and I'm a magician next to her. We have different kinds of skills and intelligences. She's a musical and social genius, able to pick up all sorts of subtle nuances of speech and body language. I need a very large bucket and two baritones singing loudly in my ear to carry a tune and I'm a complete social oaf so far as social cues go. I am good, however, at visual-spacial tasks, putting things together and taking them apart. I'm a whiz at written verbal tasks too.  I'm only smarter than my wife at a few things which IQ tests happen to measure. She makes me look thick at other things the IQ test designers forgot to measure.  I think it works the same way for dogs. I think the measurement of animal intelligent is too subjective and far too heavily weighted to a single factor like trainability and calmness.

Me and my brilliant puppy dog, Daisy.

What is particularly amazing about dogs is that in the wild all dogs are pretty much alike. Scientists have shown, however, that in just a few generations with people, dogs that have come out of the wild not only become more tame, but they also develop this amazing variety of personalities, abilities and temperament. They even begin to develop distinct markings, body types and even change colors away from the dull browns and grays of wild dogs to the bewildering array of colors found in domesticated dogs. 

I think God designed them that way on purpose, just as He designed each of us with different skills and abilities. "And He gave some apostles, and some prophets, and other some evangelists, and other some pastors and doctors." (Eph. 4:11). And God told us that we should not envy the gifts which are not ours nor disrespect those who happen not to have our gifts. (I Corinthians 12).  I think animals like dogs and horses have been given that same plethora of "gifts" in order to make them perfect companions to man. That's why nobody agrees on what's the best dog and why some are drawn to specific breeds. We choose our animal companions as we choose our mates - we look for the best fit in personality, skill, temperament and affection.

How cool is that?

© 2014 by Tom King

* Side note on my Cousin Jeff's dog Sam: The previous owner couldn't do anything with Sam and returned him as incorrigible. Jeff took Sam from being what one person thought was a thick-headed reject and trained him to be a first place winner in frisbee dog competitions in a matter of months. It wasn't a case of stupid dog, just a bad fit with the previous owner. Sam needed energy, Jeff has energy to match. If you don't own a dog, try finding one that's your match. You won't regret it.

There are Cat People & Dog People

One type of person is happy and well-adjusted.  One is not.
(c) 2013 by Tom King

I'm just saying.  I've owned dogs and tended to cats over the past fifty years or so. I've noticed there is a a profound difference between these two favorite pet species and how they interact with their owners.  Here are some things I've observed.

• Cats are socialists and in charge of all things.  Dogs are libertarians and think you're a pretty great leader.
• Cats are politicians. Dogs are voters.
• Your dog will die to protect you from an attacker.  The cat will hide till it's all over.
• Your dog is always glad you're home. The cat wonders why it took you so long to get there and why her supper bowl is still empty.
• Your dog will bring you your slippers.  The cat will pee in them if you still haven't filled his supper bowl.
• Your dog will fetch the ball when you throw it. The cat plays with the ball to amuse herself, until it rolls under something and then she will sit there with an exasperated look on her face and wait for you to fetch it. 
• Your dog brings you toys to play with.  The cat brings you dead rodents and leaves them in your shoes.
• Your dog wants you to feel good about yourself. Your cat wants you to make her feel good about herself.
• Your dog thinks you are clever, funny and can do anything you put your mind to.  Your cat thinks you might just be able to handle a can opener with the proper supervision.
• Your dog hard down loves you. The cat needs to think about it for a day or two before she answers that question. 
• Your dog will sleep on the foot of your bed till you wake up (even if you don't wake till 10 or 11.  The cat will walk around on your face at 6 am because you haven't filled her bowl yet.
• Dogs have family. Cats have staff.

You have been warned.

Tom 

Music Returns to My House

It's been a rough week for us, but sometimes after the storm, the birds sing. I heard my sweetie singing downstairs as she's been cleaning. The disease she's fighting is cruel and one of the things it took from her these past few years is her music. When I heard here sweet voice singing our old lullabies and folk songs, I had one of those misty moments guys aren't supposed to get. Pretty soon we were singing the songs together and when she sings with me, it makes me sound so much better.

She has a beautiful voice and perfect pitch.  I have a weak voice and require the use of a bushel basket to carry any kind of a tune. My choir director at Valley Grande stood me between a strong bass and a baritone hoping they would influence me in the direction of the tune. Oh, I wanted to sing in the worst way, but I soon realized I just didn't get the gift.  Mr. LeBard let me in the choir, I think, mostly because he hoped I'd be a good influence on the bass section.

Sheila and I couldn't remember some of the old tunes, so I looked a few of them up as I was sitting at the computer. Then I dug out a few tunes on Youtube. After a while I fired up my favorite music machine - Pandora.  Now this isn't exactly a commercial for Pandora, but whoever came up with the idea for Pandora.com is a genius. I don't listen to the radio anymore. I literally cannot find a station I like.

With Pandora you can build a personalized radio station around a favorite genre, a favorite artist or even a favorite song.  To give you an idea, the station I'm listening to has the following search criteria:  The Roy Rogers song, "Happy Trails", "Pearly Shells" by Burl Ives, "Aloha Oe", and Danny Kaye. What's come up is everything from Sons of the Pioneers to several beautiful Hawaiian slack guitar pieces, some country folk pieces, Glenn Miller's "In the Mood", a Jimmy Durante piece and a duet with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.  If stuff comes up I don't like, I hit the "thumbs down" button and it jumps to the next song and learns what I like and dislike. If I want to hear something again on that station, I hit the "thumbs up" button and it will show up again in the mix.

Earlier, I was listening to a video of Doc and Festus from "Gunsmoke" talking philosophy.  Doc said, "A man only gets three things in his life if he's lucky, a good horse, a good dog and a good woman."

Cinnamon

I'm lucky, I've had all three.  I rode a beautiful little red quarter horse named Cinammon for two years when I started the Odyssey Harbor Equestrian program for emotionally disturbed kids. She and I learned to ride together. I hated leaving her behind when I left Odyssey Harbor. She was a great horse.

I cut several miles of new riding trails back through the woods on her back. I'd cut limbs with a machete, like a cavalry officer swinging a sword.  She never jumped or reared. She'd have been a great war horse. She was half-broke when we got her. I read a book on horse training and as I learned she did. She was a very forgiving animal.

Me and Daisy

My dog, Daisy, is with us now. She was a gift from God and the best dog I've ever had. She practically house-broke herself. She's obedient and she's the only one in the house that believes that I am the alpha dog around here. I just hard down love this dog.

She and I walk 3 to 5 miles a day. She is the first dog I've ever had that enjoys playing fetch. Sometimes, I think she understands English. She's fiercely loyal, protective of us and has very sharp teeth and a bite so powerful, she reduces bones and hard rawhide chew treats to flinders in a matter of minutes. She loves everybody (except UPS guys and the postman). She has a fan club among the kids in the neighborhood and never met a person she didn't like if they'd scratch her behind her ears.

Sheila

As to the good woman, I've been married to her for 38 years and counting and as she came through a couple of minutes ago, I swept her up in my arms and twirled her around the floor while Jimmy Durante sang "I'll Be Seeing You".

It was just a moment, but life is good because of those moments.  The vacuum cleaner is going again and my sweetie is making the place smell good.  Louis Armstrong is singing "La Vie En Rose" on Pandora and my good dog Daisy is scratching my leg to tell me she needs to go outside.

I think maybe a man needs a good radio station too and that's pretty much it.  My life is complete, I guess.

Thanks Pandora, Daisy, Sheila and Cinnamon....

Tom

God Smiles: Daisy and the Blankie

by Tom King  (c) 2012

Daisy the Wonder Dog

They say that if you need a dog, God will give you one. As Wendy Francisco points out in her children's song, God and Dog, dog spelled backwards is God. I think that's more than an accident of spelling.

I always said I'd never be one of those old people who was stupid over a pet dog.  I was wrong.  If you've read this blog much, you've heard about Daisy the Wonder Dog till you're probably sick of it. But something happened early this morning that made me understand a little bit more how God must feel about us sometimes when we try so hard to get it right.

I had a conversation the other day about how my faith is periodically restored when people perform random acts of kindness without there being anything in it for them at all. My wife has been wanting denser foam in the sofa cushions. Sheila is from redneck stock, has virtually no behind and has a bad back to go with it. Whenever we get a new sofa she always stuffs the cushions till they are about the firmness of concrete. I don't sit on the sofa anymore because I actually have a butt and need a nice large depression to accommodate it. For her, hard as granite is comfy.

Anyway, she called the furniture store where she bought the sofa and asked what it would cost to replace the foam in the sofa cushions with a denser foam. She explained that she wanted to know how much she needed to save up to get the job done. The lady asked her some questions, did some calculating and then told Sheila there'd be no charge for the replacement foam. She told Sheila "God bless you," and that she hoped Sheila's back got better soon.

That kind of thing is what I'm talking about. It must make God smile to see people do very sweet things like that.

Daisy, our spoiled, but very obedient half Lab, half Border Collie, half blue heeler, half who knows what else, woke me up early this morning. She usually sleeps on the bed with us, but lately, since Sheila's been having lower back and kidney problems and she's been in a lot of pain, she's taken to sleeping on the floor on Sheila's side of the bed.  About halfway through the night, she jumps up on the bed and sleeps the rest of the night at the foot. After I get out of bed, she takes my spot and scoots up next to Sheila to keep her company..

Daisy had apparently decided early this morning to come up on the bed to join us, but something was wrong. She kept circling the bed and whining. I woke up and found her sitting patiently on the floor beside the bed staring at me. I patted the bed beside me and called her to jump up. She wouldn't. I tried to coax her up several times, but each time she kept running around to Sheila's side of the bed and looking at the floor. I finally got up and went around to see what she kept looking at.

Turns out that during the night, Sheila had woke, decided Daisy must be cold and pulled her plaid blanket off the bed to cover her up with. (Sheila always thinks Daisy is cold - despite the vast amounts of fur I keep brushing out of her winter coat).  Daisy looked at me. Then she looked over at the bed, then looked down at her plaid blanket.  I knew instantly what was wrong.

Daisy napping on her "blankie"

Sheila lays Daisy's plaid blanket over our bed at night so if she (the dog, not Sheila) sheds it gets on her blanket and not on the quilts and bedspread. Daisy's blanket is light weight and much easier to wash. Daisy knows she is supposed to wait to jump on the bed till her blanket is in place.

She had evidently seen that her blanket wasn't spread over the bed, so she figured she shouldn't jump up on the bed till it was. I picked up the blanket and spread it over the bed. The instant the blanket settled in place, sixty pounds of excited pooch came hurtling across the room and leaped onto the bed.  I got a good swift lick in the face, she turned round twice and curled up in her spot, grinning happily.

I understand why God might smile at our struggles to obey him and be very pleased even when we can't do it on our own. I also understand why He picks up the blanket for us once in a while too.

Tom

Dogs - Nature's Humorists

Aha! An abandoned cookie!

I love dogs. If I were an animal, that's what I'd be. They're the only critters I know with a sense of humor. Horses are nervous. Cats are way too into themselves. Even when they play they play to kill. Goldfish are too cold. Birds too naggy (Polly always wants a cracker and they poop on everything - kinda like having your mother-in-law in a cage).  Only dogs have that cock-eyed enthusiastic optimism that a humorist must have in order to laugh at the tragedy that is life in this world.  Dogs make life just a wee bit easier to bear.

Hey, he wasn't usin' it....

Dogs are our protectors and the play toys and companions of our youth. Later they guard our children. You're never let into the secret society of cats.  They have these cat covens where they meet to decide what to do with their humans. I've seen them. One day around sundown I chanced to look out my window and there sat a group of cats in a circle staring seriously at one another. It was kind of eerie.  I whispered to Daisy, "Hey, Daisy.  Look! Cats!" We sneaked around and I opened the front door to let her out.  I got back to the window in time to see them scatter. Daisy was so happy, she didn't know which one to chase.

Bubble mania

 A cat has no idea what to do with soap bubbles except swipe at them irritably as they float by. Dogs go after them with enthusiasm. Dogs go fetch stuff you throw at them and sometimes they even bring them back after giving them a good shake.

They're natural born hams. Anytime you give them a little attention, they get all happy and pretty soon they are mugging for the camera, doing flips and running frantically in circle.

For a dog life is exciting.

Ooh, ooh, take my picture too!

When we lived in Tyler with my son Matt and his wife Nancy, Daisy, our lab/border collie/God-only-knows-what-else mix owned their cat for a time.  The cat never liked using a litter box and went outside like the dog. If the cat wanted out, she'd go stand by the back door and Daisy would come bounding into the bedroom to get me.

She'd grab my hand in her teeth and "woof" at me. She was saying, "My kitty needs to go pee-pee NOW!"

So I would get up and go to the door, open it and the dog would stand aside and sure enough the cat would stroll out the door like the flippin' Queen of Sheba. Meanwhile, Daisy is as happy as a clam and doesn't even need to go out herself. She goes back and curls up by my chair, content that her work was done. 

She'd also come get me when the cat wanted to come back in. She took very good care of her kitty and doesn't understand why, now that we live with four cats here in Puyallup, we won't give her one for her very own. They all hide in my sister-in-law's bedroom and won't come out. I see them sometimes sitting in her second story window, watching Daisy and I head out for our morning walk. I know they're up there plotting to take over the world or something. Looking down on us from the window sill all spooky and quiet. Daisy keeps sticking her nose in the room if someone leaves it open, hoping to catch one and adopt it by force, but no one will let her. She's kind of depressed about it. I mean she's the only one who isn't allowed to have a pet!

If you want to see a bunch more funny dog pictures click on this link where I got some of these pics. The Funny Dog Site has a bunch of these you'll enjoy if you're a dog lover and who isn't. Even smart kitties know the importance of having a dog for a buddy. These guys in the basket (above) won't have to worry about those nasty tempered Siamese tomcats that run around the neighbors terrorizing innocent kitties. They've got PROTECTION!

Gotta love them hound dogs!


Easily entertained.

Always relaxed.

Always giving it their best.

If you haven't got a dog, pray for one. God'll send you a good un'.

One of my favorite songs is called God and Dog. It's by Wendy Francisco. Don't click on the link unless you have a hanky with you.


Have a lovely weekend and a happy Sabbath rest.

Tom King

Daisy watching out for subversive cat meetings.

http://www.funnydogsite.com/ 

Aunt JeDaisy

(c) 2011 by Tom King

My wife had been tying a neckerchief around my dog Daisy's neck lately.  My nephew, Justin, decided to modify her kerchief a bit.

I was at my desk when Justin sat down on the floor where Daisy was napping.  A minute or two later, Justin says, "Look Unka Tom. Daisy's Aunt Jemimah."

The boy does love his pancakes. The ever-patient Daisy just closed her eyes and went back to sleep. We'd just got back from a 3 mile morning ramble in the crisp autumn air and she was not letting even minor humiliation disturb her slumber.  She did manage to shake off the goofy headwear before we went out again, lest it give the neighborhood dogs something to tease her about.

Daisy's Brown Eyes Shining

by Tom King (c) 2010

She ate my sock again today

A gesture that was meant with true affection.

Brown eyes looked up at me for sign

That I approved what lovingly was meant.

And when I barked in my gruff style

She cut those dark brown shining eyes at me

A sadder thing I will not see

A dog's regret for unintended crimes.

(c) 2010 by Tom King - All Rights Reserved

Old Bob, the Duck and the Houston Man

My Grandpa told this as though it were a true story. I have a picture of him at age 5 in his knee britches with "Old Bob" and her puppy "Dixie", so I know Old Bob existed.  Grandpa told lots of stories of her prowess as a retriever.

She was so famous a rich businessman came up from Houston just to hunt with Old Bob. They went out by the little lake outside of town and he picked off a duck. Grandpa sent Dixie splashing off into the lake while Old Bob just sat there.

This happened several times till the Houston man finally said, "When am I going to get to see Old Bob in action?  I mean I did pay for the privilege."

Grandpa kinda shrugged and didn't say much. The Houston man picked off another duck and it splashed down out in the middle of the lake.

"G'wan, Bob," Grandpa pointed toward the duck.

Old Bob backed waaaay up and took a running start at the shore. Her feet were spinning around so fast that when she hit the water, she just kept on running on top of the water!  She snagged the duck with her teeth as she went by, made a long wide turn throwing up water like a jet ski and tore back toward shore. A moment later, she laid the duck down by the startled hunter's feet, then ducking her head, slunk 'round behind Grandpa's legs looking shame-faced for all the world.

"Wow!" the Houston Man said. "I've never seen anything like that in my life!"

Grandpa looked down at his feet.  "I'm sorry about that," he told the Houston man regretfully.  "I never could teach this danged dog how to swim!"

Grandpa never would say whether that one was true or not.

(c) 2009 by Tom King

*The photo to the right is my grandpa, Thomas Adolph King, Old Bob (left) and her daughter, Dixie (right) circa 1915.

Cousin' Alonso and Old Bob the Exploding Dog

My grandpa used to tell this story to us when we were kids. He grew up in Keene, Texas, a small college town populated exclusively by Seventh-day Adventists. Most fundamentalist religious communities have strict expectations that local children will exhibit proper deportment and Keene was no exception. Good behavior is especially expected of any child whose grandpa was one of the founders of the local church and a full time minister.

My grandfather's Cousin Alonso was a notable rapscallion. Grandpa Adolph, a shy boy and the only child of the local school teacher, always held a sneaking admiration for Alonso's audacity in the face of remorseless authority.  For all that Grandpa H.B. French might have been in the way of a paragon of virtue, nine year-old Alonso was determined to be his own man.

Old H.B. was a noted prayer warrior and often prayed aloud and with feeling up in the barn loft on top of any convenient hay pile.  One day Alonso heard him praying about the end of the world and the second coming. When the old man got to the part about the fires of hell, Alsono set fire to the haypile. He was Keene, Texas' original special effects man.  One stunt, however, nearly ended his career.

Alonso and my Grandpa, Adolph, decided to go fishing. Alonso's dad had been blasting stumps in his cotton field the previous week and Alonso was suddenly struck by one of those brilliant ideas that come to all such great minds when facts and necessity come together in a moment of inspiration.

1. Alonso wanted to catch lots of fish.
2. There were lots of fish in the pond.
3. Catching fish with worms and a cane pole is an inefficient way to catch lots of fish.
4. Alonso had heard that dynamite, set off underwater brings fish to the surface where you can scoop them up with a net.
5. There were quarter sticks of leftover dynamite in Dad's shed.
6. Alonso knew where the key was.
          and finally.....
7.  Dad and mom had gone to town for supplies.

In that sudden moment of over-whelming Socratic logic, all the elements of a successful fishing trip came together in a flash of juvenile (delinquent) insight.

Alonso, snagged a quarter stick of TNT, a fuse and some matches and headed for the pond with his posse, four or five local urchins, in tow.  Grandpa and Old Bob, his faithful dog trotted along happily at Alonso's side.

It should be noted here that "Old Bob" was a girl dog. Grandpa was about 6 at the time and, the school board in those ancient times, had not yet instituted kindergarten sex education classes in the public school. Grandpa was, therefore, blissfully ignorant of how the whole dog gender thing actually worked. Old Bob later became a mom and Grandpa got several excellent retrievers out of her litters including the semi-legendary Dixie.  But none was a better natural retriever than Old Bob.

You probably see where this is going, if the picture at the top of the page didn't give it away.

Down at the pond, Alonso prepared to launch his improvised explosive fishing device. He scratched a match to flame, touched the fuse and flung the sputtering stick of dynamite into the pond. He plugged his ears and turned away.

Even with his ears plugged, he could not fail to hear an unmistakable second splash that followed on the heels of the first splash made by the dynamite.

When everyone looked up, Old Bob was already swimming toward shore with the dynamite hissing and sputtering in her teeth.  First she tried to give it back to Alonso, who shrieked like a girl and fled for his life up the nearest tree. Next she ran amongst the posse that had been lying just over the top of the dam waiting to observe their first underwater explosion. The posse, collectively uninterested in owning a genuine lighted stick of TNT, promptly scattered in all directions. Finally, Old Bob chased grandpa around the pond a few times and finally convinced him to take the dynamite from her.

Young Adolph snatched the stick of TNT and flung it toward the middle of the pond. He barely had the presence of mind to fall on Old Bob who was preparing to fling herself into the pond again in hot pursuit. The dynamite exploded about 6 inches above the water sending a loud report echoing off the steeple of the church and the high walls of Old North Hall clear up on the college campus.  It being a sleepy Sunday afternoon, the explosion attracted all sorts of unwanted attention.

The boys scattered into the woods, but troops of alarmed parents soon had them all rounded up. In a trice, the town moms sorted out the guilty from the merely stupid and delivered them that deserved it, to their dads for a little 1920's rough justice.

Old Bob, confused by the ferocity of the blast, was always a bit skittish about the retrieving business after that. She took to sniffing dead ducks and tree limbs alike before agreeing to fetch 'em.  She never again appreciated the smell of gunpowder and used to cock her head over ducks and quail that had been freshly shot, listening, I suppose, for any telltale hissing and popping sounds.

Wouldn't child protective services have fun with an incident like that these days?

I'm just sayin'

Tom King - Flint, TX

(c) 2010 by Tom King

God Spelled Backward

Someone once quipped, God spelled backward is Dog.  I wonder if there is not a hint at a cosmic truth in that observation. Could it be that of all the animal kingdom, the humble dog is God's special messenger? I told a children's story at church on Sabbath, assisted by my faithful dog, Daisy.

Daisy, I have decided is a messenger and teacher sent by God for my edification.  Indirectly, she has taught me patience, the value of "stuff" (I'm more tolerant to teeth marks on my possessions these days) and the importance of getting up out of my chair and taking a turn round the block to get the old heart going.


But dogs teach us in other ways more direct. God, it is said, has two books.  The scriptures, of course, is one, but the other is the great book of nature - God's very handiwork into which he has woven lessons that answer the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything.

The answer is not, by the way, 42 whatever Douglass Addams may say about it..

When we adopted Daisy there was the element of divine intervention in how she came to us. I've told the story before, so I won't repeat it, but leave it to say, God decided we needed a dog and sent her to us. I had always rather looked down on those sad old couples with their pet dogs that they spoiled mercilessly and talked baby talk to until it made you want to hurl.

We have become one of those sad old couples. We really need some grandkids soon or our descent into terminal schmaltziness will soon be complete.

I called her "Daisy Pooh" the other day.  I swear to you - "Daisy Pooh".  It may already be too late for me.

In preparing for my story Sabbath, I wrote down ten things Daisy has taught me in the time she has been with us.  To wit... 

Everything I Need to Know to Be a Better Human Being as Learned from my Dog:

1.  Love without conditions.  When someone you love comes home, do not hold back when expressing your joy that they have returned to you safe and sound.  It is a practice I promise you will never regret.

2. When you are sad or cold or lonely - make a dogpile!  If you want comforting, find a pile of loved ones and make a pile. Nothing soothes the heart quite so well as the collective beating of all those dear hearts at once.

3. Chase squirrels with all your heart, mind and strength!  You should do everything you do with total enthusiasm and energy. It's good for you heart and builds strong muscles and bones. God meant for your to do things.  So, do them well and whatever you do, do it to the glory of your Creator.

4. Obey your master.  You master is taller than you and can see dangers you cannot.  Your life may, and indeed it likely does depend on your swift and certain obedience to the Master - if not now, then someday soon, you do not know when.


5.  Come when called.  You never know why you are called or where you will be called to, but if you are being called, your master wants you for something and, who knows?  There may be treats.


6. Expect the best of others.  Believe the best of the one who takes care of you. Assume they love you and do not ever mean to hurt you.  You will be a thousand times happier if you do.

7. Forgive easily.  This follows if you believe the best of others.  You're going to forgive anyway. God expects it and holding a grudge only makes you miserable.  How much better than to forgive freely and with all your heart now and get on with the feeling better.

8. Rest when it is time to rest.  God gives us lots of time to rest.  Catch a nap whenever you can. Take that whole day off once a week that He gives you. It's good for your soul, your body and your spirit.

9.  When you please others, it makes you happy too.We are made to be creators and givers. Use your imagination and do something wonderful for someone else. Doing so lights us up inside and makes us smile.

10. Never turn down a treat your Master gives you!  Our Master gives us only good gifts that are for our blessing and happiness. Never tell yourself, I do not deserve God's gift. He paid a great price for it and it makes Him happy to give you His gift. Do not rob God of His joy.

Hmmm.

These sound like New Year's Resolutions to me.

Happy New Year

Love,

Tom, Sheila and Daisy

PS:  I wanted to add this weblink I recently found to this post. It's a song, video and book called God and Dog by Wendy Francisco.  It's brilliant and exactly captures my idea about why dogs are God's gift to mankind. Go to the web-page, scroll down to the video and click on play.  Bring a box of tissues with you, however.  This thing will make a lumberjack cry if he owns a dog.

*Note:  Photo used without permission from Sheila (she's at work), so I used the one where she looked like Kilroy hiding behind Daisy. I'm not allowed to post unapproved photos of the her and this was the only one of the three of us that might slide by without prior approval.

Oh, Daddy Don't You Moan

I wrote this mournful little ditty while walking the dog tonight. It's to the tune of "Oh, Mary Don't Ya Weep.


Oh, Daddy Don't You Moan
(Tune: O' Mary Don't You Weep)
by Tom & Daisy King

1. Every day about eight o'clock
Gotta take Miss Daisy and go for a walk
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
So, Daddy don't you moan.

Chorus:
Oh, Daddy don't your gripe don't your groan
Oh, Daddy don't you pitch and moan
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

2. When we meet another dog I stand and watch
Fifteen minutes of sniffin' crotch
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

3. Standin' in park our backs to the shore
Whackin' her suitor's with a two by four
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

4. Took Daisy paddlin' in the old canoe
She laid in the bottom and she ate my shoe
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

5. Took Miss Daisy out for a sail
She jumped in my lap and overboard we fell
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

6. Sailboat's headed off fast and far
Daisy's headed for the nearest shore
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

7. I said, "Hey Daisy, how about a tow?"
I got two legs, but you got four!"
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

8. Daisy climbed up on my back and then
She settled down comfy while I swam us in.
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

9. I crawled on home I was battered and wet
But guess who got rushed off to the vet
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

10. I complained next night that my feet was sore
Mama said "Hon, you need to walk some more!"
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

11. I thought we could take a quick stroll in the park
But 4 hours later I'm stumblin' round in the dark
Cause Daisy's gotta stroll round town
So oh, Daddy don't you moan

12. YOU wanted the dog Mama's quick to chide
I swear I'm gonna get gold fish next time
Daisy's gotta stroll round town
Oh, Daddy don't you moan

Apparently God Wants Me to Exercise

I promise not to let this blog descend into syrupy sonnets about my new dog. Let's face it, though. Old people and dogs - it's pretty disgusting to watch! Sheila and I are turning into THOSE people who have a dog that we lavish our attention on because our children are pretty much fed up with us obsessing over them and if we don't dote over something, we'll probably melt down. Not a lot of grandkids running around here, so Daisy, our half lab, half border collie gets the full treatment.

Haven't heard this much baby talk since Meghan was born.

As I said in an earlier post, I believe Daisy was a gift from God. Apparently, God gave her to us because he wants me to exercise! In the 3 weeks since we found her, I've walked 1 to 2 miles a day EVERY day and sometimes twice a day. I've now officially lost 20 pounds, quit worrying about dieting AND had to take in my belt two notches! My fat pants are getting loose on me and I laid about 10 concrete patio flagstones today and did not have a heat stroke or coronary arrest.

My feet hurt, I've got bunions and blisters, but I can, in just 3 weeks, walk two miles at a rapid rate without falling over in the ditch to "have a little rest". A month ago, I got winded running up the stairs.

I've also found that I'm more alert, write faster and feel more "up". And no, I am not going to get all self-righteous about fitness and start pestering you guys to go exercise. After all, it took God to get me out doing road work and he gave me a coach that thinks going 2 miles instead of one when I really wanted to turn back at about half a mile is a jim dandy idea!

I'm thinking of painting sergeant stripes on the dog! I feel like I'm in boot camp with a hyperkinetic D.I. dragging my short legs up hill and over dale.

I'm going to bed now. I have to get up at 5 am and mow the lawn. My other sergeant is in charge of lawn care duty!

.

Spoiling the Baby - It Has Begun!

My wife got the brilliant idea to give Daisy one of her old shoes to chew on. I caught her chewing on it and fussed at the dog and then told my wife it was a very bad idea to give the dog shoes to chew and that she'd regret it.

I woke the next morning to find Daisy working her way through a whole pile of Sheila's shoes that she'd harvested from the closet.

"Bad dog!, Bad Dog!" I fussed at her.

My wife raised her head up out of the covers and told me not to fuss at Daisy.

"Bad wife!", I said, "Bad wife!"

I took the picture above of Daisy sulking. I don't have one of Sheila. She threatened to break my camera if I even thought about it!

When you need one....

God has worked a couple of small miracles for us this past week. They weren't quite what we asked for, but then miracles from God seldom are done the way we would do them. One of these small miracles happened today.

Sheila and I have never owned a dog. We had a sweet little beagle that belonged to my daughter, but we've never owned one ourselves. We're not cat people, so we've owned a half dozen or so one time and another. Go figure!

Madeleine L' Engle wrote that you shouldn't look for a dog. God will send you one when you need it. Sheila and I subscribe to this view. Dogs are a lot of responsibility and we were pretty sure we weren't up to the responsibility.

Apparently, God disagreed. This morning while doing my semi-regular good deed for the elderly woman my wife takes care of, I was minding my own business pressure washing Miz Mary Bob's house. As I turned toward the patio to fetch another length of water hose, I saw a black shape moving through the grass on its belly. As soon as I spotted it, the shape rose up and staggered toward me grinning.

I swear, she grinned at me. It was a skinny, lop-eared, part labrador puppy (I think) with enormous feet and ribs showing through thin fur. She approached me like a long lost friend and threw herself down on her back in front of me and begged to be scratched on her belly.

"Hello," I said. "Where'd you come from."

I couldn't resist and scratched her belly. She jumped up against my legs and put her head in my hands and began licking and nuzzling against me.

"Oh, no, you don't," I thought. "Nice dog," I said giving her a dismissive pat and turning away. As I climbed up the porch I realized she was right at my heels. I sat down in a chair and she came over and laid her head in my lap, looking up at me with these sad brown eyes.

"Sheila, help," I called out.

Sheila was out the door in a couple of seconds expecting to find me bleeding on the porch. She took one look at the dog, opened her mouth and no sound came out.

"I think I'm in trouble, here," I groaned.

"Don't look at me," she said, coming over beside me and stroking the dog's head. "What are you going to name her?"

We have decided that we didn't have any choice in the matter. This little girl needed us and apparently, God had decided we need her. God immediately provide us with enough money to get her basic equipment - we are so broke right now, that we'd never have excepted the responsibility without a clear sign that God knew we'd be able to take care of her.

Besides, she likes to lie beside my chair, sit in my lap and comes when we call her. Our kids don't even do that reliably. I think this dog was meant for us. She followed me around lying in the various flower beds about the place where she could watch me scrubbing down the house. As I was finishing up, I looked over at where she was lying amongst the lantana. She had her head draped across the border of the flower bed, one ear lopped over and grinned stupidly at me with those big watery eyes.

I sniffed in disgust, "You had me at hello!" I told her. She jumped up and loped unsteadily over for another head rub. She is so weak from hunger, her muscles aren't very strong and she's kind of unsteady on her feet. Sheila will fix that though. Fattening up starving creatures is her forte'.

We tried out names all morning. I thought of calling her "Angel" and then "Honey" and then "Babe". Finally I realized I was trying to name her after Sheila.

She suggested flower names and thought Gladiola might be good (we'd call her 'Glad' for short). I thought, "Hmmmm?" and then tried out Gardenia, Rose, Chrysanthemum, Magnolia (Maggie for short) and Indian Paintbrush, but nothing seemed to fit. That made me think of Sheila's old college nickname (Indian Wheezer), then I thought of "Daisy".

It sounded right. I called her that and she responded a little. Probably my imagination, but that sealed it. We spent the rest of the afternoon giving her a flea bath, brushing and treating her for ticks. We fed her a little at a time. She was starved and ate every bit. She was dehydrated too and her body temp seemed high so we gave her water with bits of ice in it which she drank down eagerly.



It's nice to be able to do things for a creature that appreciates your attentions. She didn't much enjoy the bath, but she never snapped at us or growled. I haven't heard her bark once. She spent a good deal of the rest of the day sleeping in Sheila's lap, her belly full and warm. She was very reluctant to go in the house at first, but she's decided our room must be our den and since she's apparently joined our pack, she's taken up residence there. Sheila made her a bed and then got down on the floor to show her how to use it.



She's such a sucker for anything that needs to be fed. She spent the rest of the day worrying about how the dog was breathing, her temperature, her heart rate and whether she had Parvo, heartworms, Rickets or Scurvy. I had to look up on the Internet, whether she should give Daisy an aspirin or not. My oldest son Matt's comment when we introduced him to Daisy this afternoon was, "Well, at least Mom will have someone to obsess over besides me!"

Little Miss, Matt & Nancy's cat hasn't stated her opinion yet. We're delaying formal introductions because she's currently in her psycho cat phase and she hates dogs anyway. I think she'll like Daisy, though.

Mom passed out around ten o'clock tonight, exhausted from worrying over the dog. They're both sleeping soundly as I write this. Daisy has decided on her own sleeping spot and it's not her bed. Sheila may have a rival for her recliner.



Meanwhile, I better log off and go to bed too. Apparently, God wants me to take regular walks.

I'm just sayin'

Tom

Now They Tell Me My Dog Don't Love Me!

The Chicago Tribune says dogs don't love us. They cite some so-called expert that says dogs only like us for the Pup-a-Roni snacks. The Trib says they don't miss us when we're gone and that their affection can be had for a plate of hamburger.

Here's the article.

You can read it if you want, but I think it's a lot of humbug!

Okay, I get it. We're all kidding ourselves and nobody really loves us and we're naive to think so.

Man! You people at the Tribune are really depressing and I for one refuse to accept it. I mean these guys are from Chicago, the home of Barak Obama, the man for whom "Hope and Change" is about a massive government takeover, eternal debt and being able to tell us all what's best for us and making us like it. What do you expect? Dogs are far too much like conservatives. It makes sense the Trib would do a hit piece on them - trying to undermine our confidence in man's best friend.

Okay, I know that a dog doesn't exactly have free will which is something of a pre-requisite for true love, but what they have sure is a good facsimile of the genuine article. Dogs are designed with an innate instinct to belong to a family (or pack if you want to be all stuffy and scientific). They are fiercely loyal to the pack. Our dog was absolutely a part of our family.

Eric Zorn argues a dog can be bought off if you wave a chunk of meat in front of its nose. Well, you can run a naked lady past a group of old married men and instinct will probably make 'em look. That doesn't mean they are disloyal or don't love their wives. Love is about choosing who you go home and crawl in bed with every night, not about the odd distraction. You can steal a dog, feed him well and give him a comfortable bed for the night, but if that dog is bonded to his family, he'll hike 500 miles across the wilderness to find his way home to them. It happens and how do you explain that? I don't think Lassie would do that kind of thing because she was looking for a hamburger.

All I know is this. Our beagle Suzy was my friend and she was always happy to see me. In a cold cruel world, that means a lot. If I was in trouble with everyone else in the house, Suzy was still on my side! She may not have had exactly what a psychologist would define as love for me, but it was well enough like love to suit me and I certainly loved her well enough for the both of us. She used to cry if I left her behind when I went sailing. She loved to stand on the front of the trampoline on my catamaran with the breeze flapping those big old ears. Man I miss that dog!

I wonder if that's not why God went through all the trouble of creating us humans with the power to choose. Free will has caused a world of trouble since we picked it up in the Garden of Eden. You have to wonder sometimes, though, "Is all of this misery we're going through in the crucible that is life on Earth really going to be worth it in the end?"

I'm betting it will be. Humans give their lives up all the time for those they love, for causes they love and believe in. People live their very lives for the sake of those they we love and don't count the effort wasted. Our ability to choose to unselfishly love others is incredible and powerful.

Maybe that's why Christ was willing to give up His life to save us. Maybe God wanted there to be creatures in His universe that have the power to actually love Him by choice and not just to appear to love simply because they don't have the ability to do anything else. Maybe God loved us that much that he decided all the trouble was well worth it. Seems so to me!

As to dogs, I suspect God will send Suzy back to us in heaven and the new Earth. Her whole family loved her and were with her when she died. We blew through every box of Kleenex in Dr. Spence's exam room. If I were God I certainly wouldn't want someone I loved to lose a creature they loved that much, even if that creature only seemed to love them back. I don't think He would do that to us.

Cats, I don't know about.......

I'm just sayin'

Tom

*Okay, I was kidding about the cat thing. Don't write me a bunch of nasty letters. I'm sure Bootsy really does love you and that she's just being playful when she rips up the sofa if you forget to fill up her bowl with kitty chow.

-

Of Flowers & Dogs

This Clip is from Steve Marshall's "The Flower Story". Here Steve talks about how Christian "Flowers" can handle the dogs of this life!!

Enjoy!