My youngest dog will be 3 in May. He's an eternal puppy but I reckon it's common to the breed - Shih Tzu. He spent the first six months of his life in a cage like veal. The moment I asked the guy at the awful pet shop to take him out, Leon jumped and grinned right to me. I said, 'How come no one's adopted him?' The man said, 'He's unpopular.' I looked at the man. He was scrawny and you could tell he needed a cigarette badly. He was holding a teacup Chihuahua. His teacup Chihuahua. I couldn't see how he was able to adore the smaller dog to the extent of finding Leon that unlikeable. My niece was with me. She was five or so then. Her arms were folded across her chest and she said, 'Aunt Brett, do you really need another pet?' (She knew I had 3 dogs and that many cats at the house.) I thought about it. The adult me knew the answer.
Two of my other sisters were scheduled to meet us there - at that mall with that damned pet store I never should've gone inside. The man said, 'At six months, they go to a shelter.' Like I didn't know that. Then I saw the puppy's underbite. It was extraordinary. It must've jutted out a half inch from his lower jaw. Impressive. I know that's a common yet undesirable trait in this breed. A puppy crate, leash and collar later, I held that fluffy white underbitten utterly muscle-less pup in my arms as my sisters met me in front of the store.
Thank God one of the sisters loves dogs, too. She looked at me and then at the dog. This sister is dry in presentation - but heartfelt. She's also someone I'd trust with any aspect of my life. She said, 'That's your dog.' I looked at her. She said, 'I mean your Forever dog. Like my Moonie.' Moonie was her dog she had for 21 years. Yes. I typed that correctly. TWENTY-ONE YEARS of having a dog who adored you. They were a team. At the end he was a furry grump heap in the back of a closet. Anytime someone suggested it was 'time', she'd snap, 'He's eating and he wags his tail when he sees me. The doctor says he's not in pain.' Finally, one day Moonie gave it up. They buried him in a teak casket under a Japanese willow. She keeps a snip of his tail fur in a little velvet lined box in her bedroom.
Five minutes after meeting him, I called him Leon and he answered to it. The other day I bought him this toy. It's a clear blue plastic cylinder with a tennis ball inside it. You can take the ball out but, for a dog, it takes some doing. He hasn't put it down. At night, I put it on a shelf so he will be able to sleep. He's beside me now. When I look over at him, even though he's facing the other way, his tail wags. He will play happily for hours. I want to be like him. I want to wag my tail when no one's looking.
Things scare Leon. He's not as used to out there or people as much as the other dogs. But no matter how big or scary the 'intruder', my quaking little boy gets between me and them with a fierce low bark. When the 'all clear' is given, he wags again, relieved and comes to me. He saves me. I think the definition of bravery can be how frightened one is in the face of something scary and standing up to it anyway. Two people climb a mountain. One is afraid of heights. Who is braver? .
The day I brought him home - this was back in Georgia when I was visiting my sister's house - we went outside. It might have been the first outside he'd ever seen. It was in October. Leon looked up at the early evening sky, still blue, with some clouds putting on a show. Then he looked at me and jumped a bit as a leaf fell nearby. His face seemed to say, 'Isn't this wonderful? Can you believe the happiness?' It was as if he'd never been in a cage at a store where he wasn't the cute little puppy. He had forgotten all that. It was not relevant. It was as if his life began with each moment. He continues to be That Way.
Years ago, we found Earl in the street, hot, hurt and bleeding. He's a huge dog and they can die easily in a California summer without water. Someone had been using him as a bait dog for fighting. He escaped, we figured. He flinched at the slightest movement of a hand. We were not eager to find where he'd been, but made an effort to see if anyone was looking for him. We got him a doctor, food, water and love. Maybe not in that order. But Earl knows there's another 'out there'. He stays nearby and is a worrier. He knows when I am leaving for a trip. He goes by the suitcase room and sighs. We are alike. Leon, however, gets his ball or fuzzy toy and refuses to mope or predict. Leon IS.
Dr. David Hawkins' books have been consuming a lot of my time. He has come up with a way to spiritually calibrate levels of humans, organizations, items, ads, you name it. It can be quite disconcerting. I realize that, in this life, I have risen from one rather unkeen level to a higher one and then yet more and more. I am now at the realm of wanting to be much kinder, loftier, unconcerned than I am. Suppose there's something to be said for aspiring. But my frets, inklings, slips are annoying. Lapses of patience, logic, peace and faith plague me. My life is a prayer and I am the interruption. There are days when I wish I didn't know how much higher I could be on that Spiritual Calibration scale. On the other hand, Dr. Hawkins is a fan of comedy, so maybe he'd cut me some slack in that regard. If you want to hear him, go to beyondtheordinary.net and find his radio talks. That's the first time I heard his voice. And check out Broccoli. That's Dr. Hawkins' parrot.
My new bird Frankie doesn't know fear or anger. He has no clue that his hollering pisses me off sometimes. I'll yell, 'FRANKIE!" and he chirps happily. He'll jump right onto my finger when I reach in there and seem to say, 'That's all I wanted. Now put me in the big cage and let me play some more.' I wonder, if he gets smarter, will he be 'onto' me? Will he know that I don't like the high decibels? Will he care?
Then I am grateful for such gentle or 'clueless' teachers.
I just got a new tv show. It airs this summer. We begin taping this week. I want to remember Leon every second. It's been 8 years since my last regular show. Let's see if this studying/learning time's sunk in.
When will I realize that Leon and Frankie have it all figured out. They're right here. They are closer than the Nicene Creed and the Lord's prayer. St. Francis would've loved them. We don't have to go to Mecca and swarm a box or even march to say the war should be over. (It should, it should.) We don't have to sit in a pew. But I guess we have these built-in forgetters.
Dammit, I just want to wag my tail when no one's looking.
