The Living Season

My mother, who’s paid her dues in the nursing home – so far, thank G-D, not as a patient – calls January “the dying season.” Mom’s not a cynical woman. She is, in fact, a spectacular woman. She’s also a realist. Many of her post-adult charges held on to life just long enough to spend … [more]

Regarding Tucker

The hole stands at four feet long, three across, three feet deep. It’s not done yet. Today I sawed apart the wind-tipped apple tree, pulled the stump, and got started. Tomorrow, I’ll shovel more dirt out of the hole. I’m well into the clay layer now, and the sides are holding up proudly. As for … [more]

Remission Rates & Dog Rebates

I’m almost afraid to post this. One year before the day before Halloween 2013, Tucker Dog had his leg taken off due to cancer. In medical terminology, he was “disarticulated at the hip,” which is just as horrifying and brutal as it sounds. He came home on Halloween night shaking with terror, crawled up on … [more]

No one ever buys a dog

…nor do you get one as a gift. Dogs aren’t slaves or property. You earn dogs, the way you earn children: by cleaning up their poo; by never giving up on them; by firm corrections; by loving forgiveness when you know damn well they knew better; by playing with them anyway when you’re just too … [more]

Nut ‘n’ Honey

“Wanna walk up to the post office with me?” “No. I hate walking to get mail. It takes like forty minutes, and nothing gets done,” Pretty Wife said. “It makes me crazy.” “OK.” Couldn’t blame the lass. I tore a little cartilage in my right knee about a month ago, playing at Aikido with people … [more]

Band Aid

If you’re new around here, you may want to read this first: http://www.jaxworx.com/musings/rain-dog/ Context is where you find it, but sometimes a guide is useful.     Twenty-two years ago, I bought a black armband. It was a ridiculous frilly thing, a garter actually. Every 17th of January, I wore it above my left elbow. People … [more]

The doggie loves me…

… or he wouldn’t have gone. Tucker hates riding in the car. It takes him a mile or two just to stop shaking like a meth-sizzled Chihuahua, then he settles into whistling and drooling his discontent with motorized transport. Stands to reason, I suppose. His first experience of automobiles was getting stuffed into the back … [more]

Something is rotten in Danemark

A low rumble issued from the house as I stumbled up our brick-laid path, interrupting the wet sounds of a loose, flopping jaw tearing clumsily at fresh meat. Inside, I could sense its presence evaluating me. With the house lights off and no illumination save for the guttering of a tea light in the jack … [more]