Duke's Surprise

July 23
Monday

Slept in until 8:30. Couldn't shake myself awake. Finished reading The Long Season.

Why a baseball book? First, it is a fine book; witty, well written and honest to a fault. Second, an entertaining book helps to clear "my reading palette." I've been reading quite a bit of Japanese literature. Japanese novels, at least those I am familiar with, inevitably center around death--either directly or symbolically. Given the anniversary of my father's death, Jim's death and the growing awareness of my own approaching demise, a mental diversion is  called for.

Duke and I met Ron at the old training field at noon. A hotel built since the days of training Mac had resulted in the re-routing of the road and I had to search for it.

Seeing Ron was good for me. He is such a sincere and honest guy. Much more so than many I know. We talked while Duke explored the field. Ron liked his looks. I explained how skittish he is.

Ron knows dogs. Period. After watching Duke and seeing how he responded to me he said he thought Duke would "train easily." By training he meant learning protection work. Duke is a smart dog. He is also large for a boxer, 80 pounds. He looks the part, but given his jumpiness I hadn't considered it.

Ron suggested we test him. Duke did very well. Not only was he not jumpy it was clear he enjoyed it. I was tickled, Ron was happy and Duke got a workout. Ron offered to work with us once or twice a week until I left for Mexico. That is not as easy as it sounds. I'm pretty flexible, but Ron works non-stop. 

While we were talking a police car drove up. Someone who clearly knew nothing about training dogs had called in a complaint that we were abusing a dog. We weren't, of course. Beating a dog doesn't teach him anything except to stay away from you. My dogs run TO me in times of trouble, not away.

Once he saw Duke, who was sitting in the van drinking from his dish, he relaxed. The side door was open, Duke's tail was wagging and it was clear he wasn't stressed. A light went on and the officer remembered seeing Ron putting on a seminar. All was well and he left.

This wasn't the first time some "well meaning" (read, "jackass") has caused trouble for Duke. Not long ago I was walking him through an art fair. The whole purpose was to expose him to crowds. I want him to be comfortable around people. He is a large, beautiful dog and person after person--adults and children alike--asked if they could pet him. That was exactly what I wanted of course. They loved it. Duke loved it. I loved it.

Someone didn't. They reported to fair security that Duke was jumping and growling at people. He wasn't. Never has. If he had we'd have sorted that out long ago. I told the gendarme someone had lied. Duke stood there wagging his tail. Any rational person could see Duke was calm and happy.

The security guy did his best to be intimidating. I kept myself from telling him to buzz off. Instead I contented myself by telling him I would enjoy meeting whoever had misled him. He declined my offer. He wandered away after giving me a stern look. Shortly after, I left, angry and wondering why someone would deliberately lie.

There are days I don't like people very much.

We left Ron and headed home. Both tired, we napped. I was still smiling at the thought of how well Duke had done.

It took a long time and several rewrites before I was satisfied with yesterday's post. It was too long. I wasn't satisfied with the poems. I couldn't fix the haiku, but I was able to cut the post down a bit.

After napping I caught up on email--including reading succinct feedback from the house showing--"No interest." Rats!

Dave and his wife, Kathy, are coming for lunch on Tuesday so I checked to see what I would need to get from the store and made a list. 

I began another Brosnan book, Pennant Race.

Though not as good as The Long Season, it is still a decent read. He has a fairly long entry covering the last game I saw in Cincinnati. I remember the game well. We sat by the Reds bullpen. The Reds beat the Braves 10-9. It was the only time I saw Warren Spahn pitch and he was horrible. The Braves hit four consecutive home runs and Brosnan, who was to write Pennant Race, got the final outs to save the game. A neighbor had taken me. It was the one bright spot between dad's death and my birthday.

Here I am, back at death again.

Birth the beginning
and death marks the ending--
Today I am alive!