Kibble. UGH! She says it so sweetly. Come, Bau, and eat your kibble. Her voice has the tone that says I have something really special. I know it’s supposed to be good for me. Full of protein that helps me grow healthy and have strong bones and a shiny coat. But really I prefer a nice piece of cheese or real liver although I don’t mind the dried liver especially when she sprinkles some on my kibble.
I get a piece of the dried liver whenever I poop outside. If I poop inside on my potty mat then I get another treat – roast turkey delights. I don’t know why I get different treats depending on where I poop. Humans are sometimes hard to figure out. I thought hard about this. One of the advantages of being a dog is that you’ve got lots of time to think. I might look like I’m snoozing but really I’m thinking. And so, this is what I came up with. I prefer the liver bits to the turkey bits so maybe mistress is training me to go outside more. I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes, don’t you think?
Another thing about kibble while we’re on the subject is that mistress has been putting less and less sprinkles on my kibble. It didn’t take me long to figure that one out, although I must say that I try to hold out as much as I can and give her my best sad starving look in hopes that she’ll cave in.
Actually the kibble doesn’t taste that bad. It’s the effort of having to crack it, like having to crack shelled walnuts with your bare teeth. Apparently, it’s suppose to be good for my teeth. I don’t know who came up with that one! Certainly not a dog.
Here I am having my picnic supper. It’s really my regular kibble which, at home, is rather boring unless some human food is added to it. But here, outdoors, on its own, it tastes like a Michelin star meal. I wonder why that is.
Before the lockdown occurred I would go do volunteer work at a school in Point St. Charles which has been known as one of the Toughest Neighbourhoods in Canada.
Without sounding like I am bragging, the children and staff LOVED me. It’s nice to have someone show their appreciation towards you and openly express how happy they are to see you.
People don’t do that so much, I’ve noticed. As for me, I’m always happy to see my mistress and I can tell you that I don’t hold back. I race to her as soon as she comes in the door and jump up and down placing my front paws on her legs and sometimes even doing a little dance. I think people should take a lesson from me and show those they love how much they like being with them.
Because of the lockdown I haven’t been back to the school and so I keep this portrait (which Cameron, one of the young boys, drew of me) as a reminder of how great it feels for someone to care enough about you that they want to draw your portrait.
For all of you who love dogs
Artists will be featured virtually on our website, throughout our social media channels and in the Museum pending reopening guidelines, between August 24th – September 7th.
I have known one person who died from the Covid-19 virus. Her name was Doris and she was 86. I regularly visited her with my dog, Bau, through the Caring Paws Animal Therapy Association.
Bau and Doris had a special bond. As a patient who suffered from Alzheimer, Doris had lost much of her ability to verbally communicate. However, with Bau she tended to speak more and became joyful. Her sad mood lifted and Bau was always excited to see her. This is what animal therapy can do.
Millions of people have died from this virus and millions more have had their souls and hearts ripped apart because of loved ones suddenly gone.
When my mother died I wrote Don’t Bring me Flowers, an essay which is in the Mourning Has Broken collection. In the weeks which followed my sister’s death, an urge to write an essay about her also emerged . It was at page eighty that I realized the essay had flown off on its own and that I’d given myself this mission: for one year I would write about mourning as I went about my life collecting memories as myriads of emotions assailed me.
Through it all, I explored the meaning of life and the changes of my own beliefs, taking me through a journey of sorrow, guilt, regret, joy and hope.
With sincere condolences to all those who have lost a loved one through Covid-19 or otherwise. May your memories of your loved one comfort you.
This is my Covid-19 Hairdo. It’s a mess, I know, and I can hardly see. I’m just grateful for my exceptional sense of smell!
A dog’s sense of smell is its most powerful sense…It is so sensitive that [dogs can] detect the equivalent of a 1/2 a teaspoon of sugar in an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
You can read more about my amazing sense of smell HERE.
This is my family. My mother, my father and my little brother. I love visiting them. They are always excited to see me as I am to see them. I am also very happy to see Lyne, their mistress and her husband. I spent the first three months of my life with them so they are very special to me. Also, they have a yard where I can run around and not have to go on walks where I must put up with other dogs barking at me or jumping on me.
While my mistress goes traipsing around India, I will be spending 5 weeks with my family. Party time!
However, I kind of resent that mistress has to go all the way to India. Even if it is one of her dreams to practice yoga in ashrams and yoga resorts, why does she have to go so far when all she has to do is practice with me. After all, I am an expert at Downward Dog!
Because of her and her foolish dreams I won’t be blogging for a while. Just wanted to let you know that I will be back as soon as I can.
As many of you probably know I do volunteer work. My mistress takes me to different community centers but one of my favorite places is going to the library and having the children read to me. It is extremely relaxing! So, I was very happy when Mistress began reading out loud to me Oskar’s Quest while I was in bed – even more relaxing although there were some tense and suspenseful moments when I worried about little Oskar.
I lay next to Mistress as close to the book as I could get and listened very carefully. I learnt a few new words (in case you didn’t know, dogs can have an amazingly large vocabulary, especially smart dogs like me so people shouldn’t be afraid of teaching dogs and little children new words). There were interesting sounding words such as murmured, fearlessly and scaredy-bird.
After Mistress had finished reading the book I thought hard about Oskar being the bravest bird in the world as I fell asleep and dreamt that I was the bravest dog in the world!
A lovely book for children, adults and dogs.
I am extremely disappointed that my mistress did not include me in her latest book – not even as inspiration for a character – especially since I spent incalculable hours on my mistress’s lap comforting her as she wrote her novel when I could have been having another nap. Instead, there I was, helping her painstakingly check for errors. If there are any such errors they rest entirely on her shoulders, not mine. I am, however, mentioned in her acknowledgement page. Just barely.
Eugene’s research into his criminal mind is not about the why, but how to prevent his horrific crimes. Angie, a young woman starving for passion sees Eugene as her saviour from a lonely life of caring for her heroin addicted mother. How far is she willing to go in order to save her relationship with Eugene and his promise for a future together?
Detective Van Ray is out on a vindictive mission as he attempts to solve the murders of young girls in Youth Protection.
Their lives collide in a mixture of mistrust, obsession and ignoring the warning signs. A psychological crime novel about human frailty and loneliness.
This is one of my favorite dog poems. It was written by Nobel Laureate Wislawa Szymborska.
Monologue of a Dog Ensnared in History
There are dogs and dogs. I was among the chosen.
I had good papers and wolf’s blood in my veins.
I lived upon the heights inhaling the odors of views:
meadows in sunlight, spruces after rain,
and clumps of earth beneath the snow.
I had a decent home and people on call,
I was fed, washed, groomed,
and taken for lovely strolls.
Respectfully, though, and comme il faut.
They all knew full well whose dog I was.
Any lousy mutt can have a master.
Take care, though — beware comparisons.
My master was a breed apart.
He had a splendid herd that trailed his every step
and fixed its eyes on him in fearful awe.
For me they always had smiles,
with envy poorly hidden.
Since only I had the right
to greet him with nimble leaps,
only I could say good-bye by worrying his trousers with my teeth.
Only I was permitted
to receive scratching and stroking
with my head laid in his lap.
Only I could feign sleep
while he bent over me to whisper something.
He raged at others often, loudly.
He snarled, barked,
raced from wall to wall.
I suspect he liked only me and nobody else, ever.
I also had responsibilities: waiting, trusting.
Since he would turn up briefly, and then vanish.
What kept him down there in the lowlands, I don’t know.
I guessed, though, it must be pressing business,
at least as pressing
as my battle with the cats
and everything that moves for no good reason.
There’s fate and fate. Mine changed abruptly.
One spring came
and he wasn’t there.
All hell broke loose at home.
Suitcases, chests, trunks crammed into cars.
The wheels squealed tearing downhill
and fell silent round the bend.
On the terrace scraps and tatters flamed,
yellow shirts, armbands with black emblems
and lots and lots of battered cartons
with little banners tumbling out.
I tossed and turned in this whirlwind,
more amazed than peeved.
I felt unfriendly glances on my fur.
As if I were a dog without a master,
some pushy stray
chased downstairs with a broom.
Someone tore my silver-trimmed collar off,
someone kicked my bowl, empty for days.
Then someone else, driving away,
leaned out from the car
and shot me twice.
He couldn’t even shoot straight,
since I died for a long time, in pain,
to the buzz of impertinent flies.
I, the dog of my master