Let Loose the Dogs of War - by Don
Posted October 1, 2018
You might get the impression that Max and I still battle like we did when he was a puppy. We do. The battles are different now that weíre both old and lazy. In the past, something as simple as getting Max in the car resembled a Nazi-Soviet slugfest with vast encirclements, unspeakable civilian atrocities, and unrelenting carnage as I charged through the neighbor's puckerbrush to bring Max to Car-Door Justice.
These days, the war is a grinding attrition of wills akin to WWI trench warfare - thereís lots of hate and gassings, and neither of us is going to move much. Max takes his time. On his way to the car he sniffs this bush.... nips that blade of grass... Looks stalwartly behind him every 10 seconds as if to say ďWas that a threatening sound?Ē It can take over 25 minutes to get Max the twenty-five feet to the car without any prompting. Itís as maddening as 1ft/minute sounds.
Max uses these stultifying tactics all the time. Especially when heís coming into an anal gland expression at the vet. He loves the vet and will generally run right in, but when he realizes itís for his anal glands, he becomes as intractable as a giant block of granite.
Of course Max can surprise you with a blitzkrieg now and then. Like when I get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. That blitzkrieg is focused directly at my side of the bed and my pillow.
When I stumble back into the bedroom after having performed my ablutions, it looks like a black, cancerous growth erupted on my side of the bed.
Iíll try to scat him out like Iím some kind of deranged goose hissing at him. I donít want to wake up Liana so I hiss ďMax.. out.. Max... Max...!Ē Max looks at me lazily for a second and then heíll put his sleepy, precious head back on my pillow because he knows, odds are, I wonít make a scene that wakes Liana.
When he doesnít move after my 27th hissing, Iíll grab the extra pillows and throw them at him. That sends him scampering for the couch in the next room. It also wakes up Liana. Auggie and Buddy will flee to the quiet of their dog beds in the living room. Iíll crawl back on my re-conquered side of the bed trying to sleep with the entire house awake and angry at me.
Think the battle is over? No! The battle has just begun!
Max reappears in the bedroom 20 minutes later and hops up on the lower part of Lianaís side of the bed. Over the next couple hours, he incrementally encroaches on my side. A little snuggle here, a little nudge there, a little WWI trench warfare there.... and the next thing you know, the blood is cut off to my lower legs and Max is gassing me like Ypres. His constant fidgeting slowly pushes me into a conniption fit where Iíll yell at him, grab my pillows (I need two) and hike it for the couch. Heíll avoid me for the next several days.
With all the war, all the contention, all the conniption fits, all the nights Iíve spent sleeping on the couch, not to mention the back problems I have suffered at the hands of this beast, I really only hate him for getting old.
I hate the gray in his muzzle. I hate his limp. I hate the lumps and bumps under his skin. I hate him jumping off the bed and hurting his joints. I hate him getting old. Thatís the horrible curse dog owners sign up for - weíre going to watch our dogs get old and die. And the crushing part is that the dogs have no idea. I can always tell my loved ones how much they mean to me and how much Iíll carry them in my heart after theyíre gone. If I told Coal the same exact thing, heíd cock his head as if to say ďBeach?!?!? Iíll go get that tennis ball you really like!Ē They have no idea.
I love the younger pictures and videos of Coal. I go through them all the time. But I canít go through the ones where heís near the end.
After he died I would have the most awful dreams about powerlessness, loss, and death. Iíd be with him in a crowded train station and suddenly everyone is panicking. Iíd find myself separated from him. I could see him in the middle of the panicked crowd, utterly terrified, standing fast, and looking for me but not seeing me or hearing my screams. The worst dreams I ever had in my life were the ones where Iíd see him fall through lake ice and Iíd run out to get him but only see him under the clear ice trying to claw his way up.
I couldnít save him in those dreams and I couldnít save him in this life. I didnít appreciate him in the 5 years we had him. I remember every time I yelled at him or called him a bad dog or I wouldnít throw his tennis ball again, and I feel like shit for every single time. I really loved him. It feels like I had a million ways to tell him he was a bad dog but absolutely no way to tell him that I loved him.
I still look at my empty passenger seat half-hoping that by some miracle heíll be sitting there and that I could give his gigantic bear head that proper scuffing he deserved one last time. Thatís been one of the good dreams Iíve had lately - Old Coally-Coal smiling at me from the passenger seat of my rancid, 280,000 mile, hand-me-down Honda Pilot. And there are other dreams where Coal will just show up randomly in bizarre, dreamlike fashion completely soaked with a tennis ball, and begging me for a marathon swimfetch session. Those dreams are the best.
Every time I have a good dream with Coal, Iíll lie completely still in bed for a long time afterward and savor them. Iíll burn them into my memory as if Coal really came to life for those brief minutes. Iíll even go back to sleep hoping for another dream. Iíll carry those ďmemoriesĒ of him with me always and as if they really happened.
Itís a late night here at Southport as Iím finishing up this rambling blog. Liana is in Pownal. I brush my teeth and walk into the bedroom to see Max's lumpy mass on my pillow. I know heís pretending to be asleep because I heard him run into the bedroom and hop on the bed before I flushed the toilet. His breathing is contrived and shallowly unlike a sleeping dog.
I crawl into Lianaís side of the bed and start reading. Max spoons up to me and I put my hand around his belly. He starts playing "The Breathing Game" where we synchronize our breathing. I gladly play.
As I start reading, he squirms a little. He squirms a little more..... He kicks me... He gets fussy... a little snuggle here, a little nudge there, sprinkled gassings, a little trench warfare there....
I donít even bother. I grab my two pillows and head for the couch.
Heís going to love his anal gland expression at the vet tomorrow.
~Don (Not a Dog)
Max & Aug's Posts
- Ask Augustus - by Auggie
- The Family Budster - by Don
- Chess King on the Hot Dog Boat - by Max
- Abandoned - by Big Buddy
- SEALs at the Gates of Don - by Auggie
- Let Loose the Dogs of War - by Don
- Bad Days to Be a Black Hot Dog - by Max
- Two Poops Galoot - by Big Buddy
- The Mongrel Scour 2018 - by Auggie
- Love Letters to the Edge - by Don
- The Peculiar Rules of People - by Max
- Buddy On The Move - By Big Buddy
- Separation Angst - by Auggie
- Salty to the Bone - Auggie - The Salad Days - by Don
- Christmas Presence - by Max
- How to Get Don Up for Breakfast - by Big Buddy
- A Spike in Kamikaze Attacks - by Auggie
- Salty to the Bone - Max: Volume III - by Don
- Land of the Free and Home of the Dog - by Max
- Big Dumb People - by Big Buddy Dog
- Poop Rules - by Auggie
- Salty to the Bone - Max: Volume II - by Don
- A From-Away Rube to a Boothbay Region Ruby - by Auggie
- The Greatest Day -- by Max
- Happy Things and Sad Things - By Buddy
- Salty to the Bone - Max: Volume I - by Don
- 2016 Sucked -- by Auggie
- Daylight Enslaving Time -- by Max
- Beastie Creatures -- by Big Buddy
- 9 Questions not to ask Don or Dog -- by Auggie
- How To Get More Food If You Love Food - by Max
- Coal - by Don
- Hardly Working Dogs - by Buddy
- 17 Messes in May - by Coal
- Supreme Fetch Dog Throughout All The Land -- by Auggie
- Buddy Power! - By Buddy
- Always a Head-Rub for a Good Dog - By Max
- Pucker Up, Dead Noses - by Auggie
- Fat Dog Food No More - by Coal
- Keys to the Kitchen of my Heart - by Buddy
- Rotten Apples but Good Boys -- By Max
- Fashion Shows and Mashed Potatoes -- By Auggie
- The Acorn and the Anvil -- by Coal
- Buddy the Extraordinary Gentledog -- By Buddy
- Scraps, Scrubs, Berries & Buddies -- By Max
- Blitzkrieg Birthday Manifesto -- By Auggie
- The Breakfasts and The Dogmanity -- By Coal
- High-Fivin' The Night Away -- by Buddy
- Fare Thee Well, Winter -- by Max
- Wonder Not, Gentle Suburbanite -- By Auggie
- The BIG ONE -- by Max
- Coal in Your Stocking -- By Coal
- Auggie's Reign Deer of Terror -- by Auggie
- Three Men Night -- by Max
- The Buddy of My Buddy is Coal's Friend -- By Coal
- Break Away From Being "From Away" Volume I -- By Auggie
- Jeepers Creepers-- Leaf Peepers! -- By Max
- Fall Down, Clean-Up -- By Auggie
- Berry Friendly -- By Max
- Coal's Birthday - By Coal
- Mutt Scrub 2014- - By Auggie
- Max's Birthday / New Website! - By Max
- Coalís Zombie Class 2013 - By Coal
- HarborFest 2013 - By Max
- Boothbay Harbor Mutt Scrub 2013 - By Auggie
- Max's Birthday 2013 - By Max
- Fisherman's Festival 2013 - By Auggie
- Boothbay Region Land Trust Trails - By Coal
- Walk for the Animals 2013 - By Max
- I am Coal. Hear Me Bark! - By Coal
- Deb's Used Tennis Balls - By Auggie
- Max Loves Food - By Max
- It's Not a K9 Crooked House, It's a K9 Crooked Home - By Max & Auggie