The Neighborhood Watch

He takes his job seriously, does Mr. Wilson, and he is remarkably good at it. For ours are more than leisurely walks without purpose, a chance meeting of like species or watering the neighborhood foliage; we are THE NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH!

We step outside and he is instantly alert, his sniffer making sure there are no unidentified scents to be had. If something is amiss he leads me toward the intruder, and we scout the area until he is satisfied, and he seals the perimeter with a stream of liquid identifier. Once that task is complete we can move on, and do further investigations. His eyes see all, his ears hear every peep, but it is that schnozola of his that ferrets out the crooks and robbers, and keeps the people he is sworn to protect safe.

A dog without a job gets lazy, and lazy dogs are bored dogs, and bored dogs do silly things, and dogs that do silly things get in trouble, and all of the fun that having a dog brings along gets lost, and instead of a partner, a friend and somebody to share escapades with we are stuck with half the pet we could have if we just let ourselves go now and then, be a little silly and work with the dogs who love nothing more than spending time with us, taking care of business.

and they never really stopped, they just kept on walking...

It took time. A lot of time. The memory of Zimba and Lakota and their lives with us never faded, but somehow, through the miracle of living became less painful, and even happy. Eventually I I could think of them without feeling an ice pick in my chest. But I didn't want another one. No way, not now not ever. The memory of my dogs had become pleasant, but the memory of the grief we felt after their passing had not ebbed, even a little. Having two dogs put down on the same day was simply too much, and I was done, and so was Cheryl.

But Mr. Wilson had just begun. It took four or so years for the spirit of Zimba and Lakota to find him, but they did, and he let them in, and keeps them close to his heart, and shares them with us every now and then, when we need it most. But for the most part, he is simply Mr. Wilson, and we are happy to have him.

Wilson Caught a Bear

Told you he caught a bear!

Wilson's World

I look out the window and there he is-big as life, bigger actually, the bear that has been eating my berries! I tricked dad into letting me outside and I tracked that wily old bear and I got him! Nothing but this bone left. But it sure is tasty!

Skunkin' Dog

I'm at the ER. I'm tired. I've been dealing with knuckleheads for thirty-three hours now, with five hours to go. I just brought a girl in who claims somebody ran her over then pulled a gun on her. There isn't a mark on her, no tire treads, no road rash, nothing.

The person who allegedly pulled the gun, I just found out, is in the waiting room. She claims that somebody pulled a gun on her then jumped under her car.

My phone rings.

Saint Misusmorse: There's skunks in the yard.

Me: It's three o'clock in the morning, I'm surrounded by gun wielding lunatics.

Saint Misusmorse: It doesn't matter, there's six skunks prowling around the birdfeeder.

Me: We need a "skunkin" dog.

Saint Misusmorse: What is a "skunkin' dog?"

Me: A dog that kills skunks.

Saint Misusmorse: And where do you suppose I get a "skunkin dog at three in the morning?"

Me: Catch one of the skunks, kill it, tie it to a four foot length of rope. Bring the dead skunk to the dog pound. Drag it in front of the cages. Whichever dog barks loudest is our "skunkin dog." Use the bolt cutters I have in the garage, snip the chain - not the lock, that's hard and take him home."

Saint Misusmorse: Bring home some mothballs. The phone goes dead.

Seeing

From the book, Mr. Wilson Makes it Home, Fall 2014     

"We have a good dog, and we are grateful. But a good dog does not a wonderful life make. Without love, compassion and a lot of gratitude and understanding the greatest dog in the world wouldn’t make a bit of difference in our, or anybody’s life. Seeing, understanding and appreciating the kindness that is embodied in Mr. Wilson is the most important aspect of fully enjoying life with him. Countless great dogs live out their lives in shelters or worse, their inherent goodness going unnoticed by the very people that their species has become dependent on."

Accepting the dog for who is, and accepting the gift of him or her is the first step toward fully enjoying each other. I think that works with people, too.

What?

Michael: I'm sorry, what did you say?

Cheryl: What?

Bad Dog?

 I used to be a fireman. I saw a lot in twenty-two years. Some of the worst things I ever saw was the way animals were treated. Pit Bulls took the worst of it. There's a lot of "tough guys" in the inner city who don't deserve the privilege to have a dog. I wrote this after encountering one such individual. (the dog was beautiful by the way, and actually looked repentant when we arrived on scene.)

"All day, nothin to do, think I'll lay on this couch, now I'll take a nap, now I'll look out the window, nobody home, can't wait. Boy it's hot up here, when are they coming home? Think I'll take a nap, look out the window, drink some water, get on the couch, where are they?

Mr. Sunshine

All in all, life is good! I've got a nice red bed to rest in between naps, a big bed that I share with the people I live with, a couple of cats to torture and a bunch of birds and squirrels outside to chase. Not bad for a homeless Schnoodle from Arkansas! The thing I like best about all of this? No worries. I know I'm going to eat, know I'll have a nice warm place to rest, and I  know that my people will hold me whenever I ask them too, which is all the time!

Home not so sweet home

I was born in a puppy mill and sold to a pet store and bought by a lady who didn't like me very much after a few weeks. I was lucky, a lady named Cheri found me wandering the streets of Arkansas, one thing led to another and now I live in Rhode Island with people who do like me. A lot. And I like them. A lot. I hope my mom and dad are okay. Help close puppy mills and adopt a pet instead of buying one from an internet site or pet store. Or, choose a responsible breeder with one or both parents on site. Thank you.

Your friend,

Waiting

Valentines day; Schmalentines day, Poodle; Schnoodle, Schnauzer; Schnoodle what's in for a poor little half-breed who is stuck in the house all day while Mom and Dad are off who knows where, probably playing with some other dog and leaving poor old Mr. Wilson home alone! It ain't right I tell ya, not right at all. Wait till they get home, I'll show them, why I ought to...wait a minute, I think I hear their car, OH MY GOD! IT"S THEM!!! Oh boy, oh boy here they come, WOOHOO, here they are, ITS THEM!!! And the lovefest begins, much like it does every time we leave the house. Mr Wilson goes for walks, and comes to work with us now and then, but the house is HIS house, and will be his only house, and he will live there happily for the rest of his days in contentment, chasing birds in the yard, torturing the cats, eating the rubbish when he gets the chance, and waiting for us to return from wherever it is we go, leaving his house every day and spending half the time that he does there. There's nothing better than a dog to make a house a home.

Rough Start

"For a designer dog, Wilson got off to a rough start. His was no life of privilege. There are places where people treat dogs like revenue producers, and operate businesses that some call puppy farms, or mills. As their name implies, dogs are treated like cash crops, and live in filthy cages, and never run, or play or feel what is like to be loved, cherished and adored by a human. They spend their days in hot, or cold - for it matters not to the people who farm the dogs - cages producing product. They are fed the bare minimum, and are diseased, and mal-nourished, but their puppies look good, and the public’s insatiable appetite for cute puppies keeps these places going, churning out litter after litter, until the female dogs are unable to deliver, and they are disposed of, or the males lose interest in reproducing, and they disappear." from the book Mr. Wilson Makes it Home, available everywhere from Skyhorse Publishing Fall, 2014

Spirits on the Beach

Once, they were wolves. Time brings forth change, and few species have changed as much as the dog. Nature runs its course, and nothing stays the same for very long, and things adapt to their surroundings. I am glad that nature saw fit to evolve some of the wolf species into domestic pets, creatures evolution has created to appeal to us humans; their soulful expressions, the way they know when they are needed most, their ability to make us crazy, and fill us with joy - all in in single moment. With their evolution comes a price that we must pay for the privilege of their companionship. They need us. We cannot just let them be, like we can wild animals, or they will revert to those erstwhile creatures who avoid human contact, and live amongst their own, members of the animal kingdom who are better off without us. We have formed a partnership with the domestic dog. They have given up much to provide us with the comfort of their companionship; it is up to us to keep them safe, and comfortable, and loved. Zimba and Lakota lived with us for almost twelve years, he was a Wold-hybrid and she a Siberian Husky. They left us on the same day four years ago, and I miss them terribly. I never thought I would love another dog; it's just too hard to lose them, but Mr. Wilson came along, and inside of him lives the spirit of all of the dogs that came before him, and I see and feel the spirit of the ones I have been fortunate enough to know.

Roadside Inspiration

On a brisk April morning, a parking lot full of people waited expectantly for our dogs to arrive. We waited, together but separate, families, couples, single men and women bonded by the humanity that compelled us to adopt or foster a homeless animal. Right on time a red tractor trailer appeared on the horizon, pulling a white trailer, and in that trailer our dogs waited, not knowing what to expect. Then, the magic began. A collective happy to be alive moment that lasted well over an hour enveloped all of us, and our dogs were delivered, and we went our separate ways, each holding onto the precious memories of that moment and the part of our lives that had been missing. For the dogs, their four day trip from “down south” was over. For us, the journey had just begun. So begins my story. Mr. Wilson Makes it Home is a book, (available everywhere, Fall 2014) and now a blog describing the weeks that follow this inspirational rendezvous at exit 89 off of Route 395 in Connecticut. The book and blog talks about love, and loss, and hope. It has moments of hilarity and heartbreak, training tips for dogs and humans, compassion, giving, taking, eating, laughing, and appreciating the rare moments of grace that make our existence not simply worthwhile, but magnificent. Too often we bask in the negativity that surrounds us, and dwell on the things that didn’t happen, or should have. But unplanned, unexpected and unbelievable moments do happen. Periodic glimpses of bliss have the ability to grab us by the throat, shake us to the core, clear our sight and give us the clarity of mind and presence of body to stop everything, breathe deeply, open our arms, turn toward the sun, feel its warmth on our skin and bask in the greatness and serenity that the moment has bestowed upon us. To feel it, and acknowledge it, and know that it is true, and accept the moment as a gift to be treasured is the most important thing a person can do. I will never forget the perfect moment that Mr. Wilson arrived, and through the words in my book, and these blog posts hope to recapture what was for me, and people everywhere who have experienced the magic that happens at these roadside rendezvous a truly wonderful experience. And hopefully, somebody will read these words, and feel inspired, and adopt a homeless pet of their own!

Darn Teenagers!

What's the big deal? I jump on people, so stab me with a spoon, jeez, you try being ten inches tall, see if you don't jump up on the giants around here! And so I got in the garbage and liberated some pork chop bones, big whoop, if you didn't want me to have them you should have gotten rid of them, I'm a dog, remember Einstein? And what's with all this "sit, stay. down, come" stuff? I get it already, you don't have to keep bugging me, I'll get around to listening when I get around to it, so bug off and let me just be cute and irresistible already! People. Unbelievable. This is ridiculous! I'm taking a nap, wake me up at suppertime!

Home at Last

I like being part of this family, The way the cats stand their ground when I pass but sometimes let me close, and look out the window with me. I like it when Mom plays with me, and throws my Sock Monkey onto the couch and I chase it and bring it back I like the food here, even though it's the same every day It's tastes good, I think, when I take the time to taste it I like my yard, and the birds, except when I catch them then things get weird, and I feel wild Like before, When I didn't have a home and I felt wild every day And I didn't like it, Not at all.