BIG Puddy Tat

It was a Sunday morning. Rex was lying on the couch, paralyzed in fear. He was rigid as rebar and panting in shallow, measured breaths. His eyes bugged out like bloodshot grapes as he cautiously, slowly scanned the living room for any signs of mountain lions.

“Rex, Rex, Rex. It’ll be okay. You’re safe. No mountain lions are going to get you. Calm yourself down.”

Rex’s previous exposure to the feline world consisted of his occasional bouts with the neighborhood bully, the Hernandez’s alley cat. Once or twice a year, Rex would come limping into the house with a bead of blood on his nose and perhaps a small missing chunk of fur, surgically removed by the cat’s razor-sharp claws. The cat wasn’t much bigger than he, but that cat was not something to mess with.

To that end, and perhaps in error, I had taken Rex to a book signing at Borders Books the previous day. The book, East Garrison, set at the old Ft. Ord location, is an incredible book written by a friend of mine, Gwyn Weger.

I had smuggled Rex in under my jacket. What appeared to be a beer gut was a Dachshund gut. Once seated, I zipped the jacket open to let a curious small black snout peer out. So far, so good.

I should mention that an ongoing “character” in East Garrison is a mountain lion living in the shrubs and bushes of Ft. Ord. Gwyn had milked that menacing aspect beautifully. She had brought with her to the signing a paw print cast of a huge mountain lion, a skull as an exhibit, and an on-going recording of a screaming mountain lion, among other things.

I think it was the recording that initially sent little Rexie over the edge. His past confrontations with the Hernandez’s cat involved hissing and snarling I’m sure, but when he heard the mountain lion snarls, he started to shake.

“Calm down, Rex. It’s just a recording,” I had told him. “Don’t make a scene or you’ll get us both thrown out of here. I don’t mind being thrown out of a bar every now and then, but what would the guys say if I were thrown out of a bookstore? Now settle down.”

I tried to pay attention to Gwyn as she told as much of the book as she could without giving away the entire plot, which involves relationships, fear, and raw courage.

A cougar claw, as big as my thumb, and some scat which had what looked like Dachshund fur mixed in it, was passed around. Rex almost fainted.

At one point she passed around the plaster casting of the paw print. As it passed down our row, Rex looked at it and then looked up at me, his eyes searching for meaning and an image of something that would have a paw that big.

It was at that point that his eyes glazed over.

The print was almost as large as my hand with my fingers splayed apart. His pupils constricted; not a good thing. It reminded me of my old girlfriend Fiona when she went to that “secret dark place” in her mind, which was not a good place. We finally broke up after Fiona had stayed in her “secret dark place” for two weeks. I had to get Rex relaxed.

“Rex, just breathe deeply. There’s no mountain lion. You’re not in harm’s way.” It was too late.

The intense squirming was the first indicator of the trouble that lay ahead. His stomach was convulsing. Then a retching sound brought to my attention that I had a big problem at hand. Rex was so afraid, he was about to throw up. Probably in my jacket; for sure on me. It was time to leave.

Gwyn saw the commotion and offered a quizzical look. Out popped Rex’s head (he had evidently been “deep breathing” inside my jacket). As I started to stand up to leave, it happened. Down my coat and into my lap.

Of course, everyone looked at the scene and Gwyn stopped her presentation. I took Rex out of my coat and held him under my arm as we exited as gracefully as we could. I had a mess on me that resembled this morning’s leftover Costco pizza. (He had half a cold pizza for breakfast.) He was shaking and quivering (multi-tasking) as more eruptions of pizza plopped along our path out to my truck.

I would highly recommend East Garrison as a good read by a local author, but if you have a small black Dachshund who is afraid of neighborhood cats, beware.

VALENTINE’S FOR MILLIE

“Rex, it’s time to think about a Valentine’s gift for Millie. She’s your main squeeze, so we have to get an appropriate gift for her. Last year’s Valentine was a dud, if you recall. We got her a cow bone to gnaw on, remember? Half a femur, I believe. She felt the ‘cow’ implication was a comment on her size. Females don’t like any gift with the word ‘cow’ involved, Rex. The fact that she’s an English sheepdog and is ‘big boned’ didn’t help, either.”
My canine companion sat next to me on the couch as our conversation progressed.
“I imagine clothing is a bad idea, too. Anything she could squeeze into would have to be a Large or XLarge, and you would just lose more yardage with that, as well.”
Rex looked as if he was pondering the possibilities, but in fact, he was probably wondering how long it was until dinnertime.
“Now Rex, I’ve had my share of Valentine’s with women over the years. It can be a treacherous slope, pal. I once bought a girl a book on Proper Tire Rotation and a set of crescent wrenches. She seemed ungrateful. I was hurt. One word led to another and before I knew it, she kicked me out of her trailer. Lived in my truck until I met Dakota. I wised up and got Dakota a matching can opener-toaster set. She LOVED it. She let me use them to make dinner for her every night I lived with her. Both nights. I guess she could only stand so much canned Dinty Moore Beef Stew and Pop Tarts.”
Rex seemed to take interest in this leg of my marathon, but I realized he was just stretching.
“See, the thing to remember Rex, is . . .” Rex had nodded off. A tactic he frequently uses as hint for me to shut up and feed him. I ignored him. “See, the thing you have to remember is to get a gift that truly reflects your feelings for Millie. Do you want a gift that says, ‘I will love your forever,’ or maybe something less committal, such as ‘Want to look for cat turds together?’ or maybe something more casual, such as, ‘Want to sniff each other’s butts?’”
Rex had rolled over onto his back, wagging his tail, indicating I should interrupt the riveting conversation and scratch his belly.
“No, Rex. Listen, we’ve got to get this Valentine’s thing off your To Do list and not wait until midnight of February 13th, like I did for my girlfriends. The good cards are gone by then. Once I had to alter the last card in the drugstore-a Get Well card-into a Valentine’s card. It was in Spanish, too.”
Rex had put his paws over his eyes-a feeble attempt to close me out of his world.
“Knock it off, Rex. We’ve got to get a gift for Millie. My God, she has everything a guy could want! Silky hair, bright eyes, pleasant disposition. Shoot, if she wasn’t a dog, I’d ask her out myself!”
Rex uncovered his eyes and stared at me. I think I had crossed a line with him I shouldn’t have.
“Well, you know. I was just speaking figuratively. Don’t get your hackles up. How about a nice dog tag? ‘With Love from Rex?’ ‘Rex and Millie Forever?’ ‘You’re a Fine Canine?’ Hmmm?”
Rex was hanging his head upside down over the edge of the couch. His chops hung open in total abandonment. He half-closed his eyes and was making choking noises.
“Forget it, Rex. I know you’re faking it. You’re not choking and I’m not going to give you the Heimlich maneuver like I did in the McDonald’s parking lot. Behave yourself. I’m trying to help you. Oh, forget it.”
I got up and left him to his silly diversions. He could get his own gift for Millie. I’ve got to hand it to him, though-at least he has a girlfriend. Me? Maybe next year

I took Rex down to Point Piños in Pacific Grove. We stayed in the car for a while-he woofing at seagulls and me woofing at the girls doing yoga in Spandex on the sand in front of me. The gulls and the girls finally disappeared, and we ventured down to the waves.
A Canada goose had been honking overhead, and dove down and glided in for a landing in front of us. Rex took immediate notice of the intrusion and looked to me for guidance.
Before I could tell Rex to honk back at the goose, it arched its neck, spread its wings, and charged my four-legged friend. Rex, rather than get into a dustup with a goose, simply sat down and wagged his tail. The goose, having been ready for a brawl and seeing Rex sitting down and wagging his tail, stopped in its tracks. (I’ll have to remember that tactic next time I’m in a barroom fight.) The goose relaxed and Rex went up to it and sat down, turning around. They both looked at me.
The reason for the goose’s immediate nasty temper became apparent: another goose flew in; probably its mate. Canada geese mate for life, I’m told, so it was probably a spouse. The three of them looked at me. I looked at them.
Was Rex on my team, infiltrating the enemy, or had he abandoned me for the company of two regal-looking fowl? I took a step toward them to test Rex’s loyalty. Rex failed-the two geese charged me and Rex stayed at the rear, wagging his tail.
Perhaps Rex really was loyal to me, and needed to prove his fake loyalty to the geese, such as a vice cop infiltrating the crime-ridden Mafia, or the Hell’s Angels, or the Lawrence Welk fan club.
As the geese charged, I had to decide whether to run away or stand up to the geese. I looked around to see if the girls in Spandex were still around-if they were, I couldn’t run away like a wimp. Rats! They were at their car watching the whole thing. One had a camera; I couldn’t run. It could be a video camera and I’d be on YouTube in twenty minutes. Eighty billion people watching a wimp at the beach running from two geese. No, I had to think fast, which has always been a challenge for me.
“Rex! You run to the left and distract the geese! I’ll run to the right and make a get-away! Meet you at the car, buddy! Save yourself!!!”
Unfortunately, that was way too much information for my little friend to assimilate and act upon. As I ran to the right, he ran toward me. I ran with all my might as the geese put it into overdrive and chased me, Rex running on their parallel flank.
“Rex!” I yelled, “for God sakes, just sit down and maybe they’ll stop! Don’t run WITH them.” Again, too much info for Rex’s walnut-sized brain.
I came to a rock the size of a Volvo station wagon. Here was my chance. A chance for what, I didn’t know, but here it was. I jumped up on the rock. The geese and Rex came to a screeching halt and I looked over to the yoga girls, as they watched a full-grown man run from two geese.
Improvising (my usual method of making it through life), I made a yoga pose and faced the Spandex contingency. “King Dancer Pose-Natarajasana!” I yelled out to the girls. They waved and came running over, and, having put away the video camera, I felt somewhat safe.
As they ran up to my rock in admiration and gleefulness, the geese ran away. Rex stayed.
“Oh,” they said, “that’s a great Natarajasana! Wanna’ do some more poses with us? Maybe you can teach us a few things!”
I looked at Rex. He looked at me. The geese were halfway down the beach chasing a teacup poodle. I looked back at the girls. “Swami Tommy at your service. Last one into the Urdhva Dhanurasana pose is a rotten egg!”
Later that night, as I was on the floor applying salves and lotions to my destroyed tendons and muscles, I looked at Rex. “The two girls are coming over tomorrow night to do some more yoga. Wanna’ bring Millie and make a five-some? Let me show you the Parsva Bakasana so you can impress your gal. They love stuff like that, you know.”
Lying on my back, I heard geese overhead. I wonder if that is them.

Rex and I had been watching a PBS special on TV. The program was about bats; I have always liked them and found them fascinating to observe. Read the rest of this article »

A Heart Torn Asunder

I had just finished watching a PBS special, Raging Torrents of Black and White: When Good Pandas Go Bad, and noticed Rex was sitting in the kitchen looking at his empty food bowl.
“Oh, rats, Rex, we used the last of your food this morning. Let’s hop on down to Ocean View Veterinarian Clinic and get you some more. Maybe Dr. Kocher will give you a treat! Grab your coat and hat and let’s go!” Of course the words meant nothing to him, but when I whispered “car-car,” he ran in circles at the jingle of the truck keys.
Read the rest of this article »

My plans for that sunny fall Saturday were to plant some new azalea bushes along the back fence and then get up on the roof and patch the fireplace flashing at the roofline with some black goopy stuff.

But first, the azaleas. I remembered my last attempt at planting azaleas in the back yard-Rex had evidently decided that the azaleas were not the proper things to plant there: he excavated them all out as soon as I had finished. He had shredded them to the point they were only good for the compost pile. Where happy little azaleas had just been, lay flora-strewn open pits. That was a hundred bucks down the drain. Damned dog. Read the rest of this article »

I found myself holding Rex up to my face—I held him up under his armpits to allow us to stare at each other intently. His nose was almost touching mine as we proceeded in “the game.” The first to blink lost. However, this time I was determined to win: I had eaten thirteen cloves of garlic just before I lifted him to my face.

“Lovely day isn’t it, my friend?” The first blast of garlic breath made him quiver. His face contorted from the odorous shockwave, but he didn’t blink. That dog has staying power! Read the rest of this article »

Rex was gone. I don’t mean he had zipped through his secret burrow over to Millie’s back yard, and I don’t mean he was hiding under the bed. My dog was gone.I had noticed him being missing after our fight over what to watch on TV. He had wanted to watch a rerun of “Lassie,” and I wanted to watch a PBS special, “The History of the Paperclip.” Even though his brain is the size of a walnut, he is pretty good at punching buttons on the remote and finding a show that interests him. Read the rest of this article »

I found the Foolish Times deadline for the “Adventures with Rex” story fast approaching, and nothing came to mind to write about. In fact, nothing had happened in the last month.”

Rex, what are we going to write about? Nothing is new.” Rex, who had been sleeping on his back on the sofa, cracked an eye open and gave me a dismissive look. His look indicated it was MY problem, not OUR problem. Read the rest of this article »

I had recently read a book on meditation, and felt I was making great headway in becoming enlightened. My only problem was Rex. He frequently disturbed my bliss. I needed to get him enlightened, too, so he wouldn’t bug the bajeesus out of me.”Rex, I’m going to teach you how to meditate. Just watch me. It’s easy.” I closed my eyes and envisioned a brilliant ball of undulating light in my third eye. My breathing deepened and I suspected I was becoming One With the Universe. I opened my eyes to monitor Rex’s progress. He was gone!

“Rex, you slacker! Get back here. How can I teach to meditate if you wander off without the least bit of interest in becoming enlightened?” Read the rest of this article »

I had been rummaging through the hall closet looking for my high-school senior year book, deciding if I should attend the reunion. The last one I went to, I found out my old flame had married Stinky Jimenez. In a way I wanted to go to see if they were still together; if they had split up, I might make a run at her, but then, any woman who would marry Stinky Jimenez would be the epitome of damaged goods. My old checkerboard set fell from a shelf and Rex buzzed in like a scud missile to investigate. Read the rest of this article »

Rex and I had cabin fever. We needed to get out and DO something.

The paper had said the Bedouin Ballet was coming to town. I don’t know about you, but I can’t get my brain to wrap around the concept of a Bedouin ballet. Tutus or berkas? Tutus AND berkas? Swan Lake or Camel Lake? Pirouettes or Whirling Dervishes? No, I don’t think my money will find its way to the cashier’s box at the Bedouin Ballet. Read the rest of this article »

Once again, procrastination had prevailed. The living room portion of the heater flex-duct under my house had probably collapsed, as I had no heat from the living room floor vent all winter. I hadn’t wanted to crawl under the house in the bitter cold weather, and now that Spring was ready to spring, it was warm enough to go under the house, but I didn’t need the heater anymore. Gee, that was a long sentence, but I wanted to get it all out. Read the rest of this article »

“Rex, it’s time to think about a Valentine’s gift for Millie. She’s your main squeeze, so we have to get an appropriate gift for her. Last year’s Valentine was a dud, if you recall. We got her a cow bone to gnaw on, remember? Half a femur, I believe. She felt the ‘cow’ implication was a comment on her size. Females don’t like any gift with the word ‘cow’ involved, Rex. The fact that she’s an English sheepdog and is ‘big boned’ didn’t help, either.” Read the rest of this article »

Rex and I were out driving around, just for fun. At least I think he finds it fun. If he sees a cute little teacup poodle sashaying her bootie down the sidewalk, he’ll whimper. I know the feeling; if I see a mini skirt sashaying, I’ll whimper too. Read the rest of this article »

Rex was lying on his back on the living room floor, watching a spider crawl across the ceiling. He ignored me as I walked in. That pretty well sums up our relationship: I lose out to a spider. I felt like faking him out by whispering “ice cream,” to watch him flip up and over in mid-air and screech into the kitchen and slam into the fridge and await for a treat. That would teach him to ignore me. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t. I’ve been down this road with him before. Read the rest of this article »

I had just gone to bed after watching a TV show on police pursuits in Venice, Italy, “The World’s Most Shocking Gondola Chases.” After settling in under the covers, you-know-who put his paws up on the bed. He needed a boost up on the bed as he is too small to scale the summit unassisted. Read the rest of this article »