Loneliness

My male owner left for a few days recently and I got to observe my female owner alone for a few days. That got me thinking: do animals and humans feel loneliness the same way?

I don't think so! 

She seemed to miss him a lot (and called him all the time and texted and so on) but she also seemed happy to be alone, to be spending time just by herself staring at the ceiling. Granted, I stare at the ceiling all the time (or at the floor, depending on my position) but I always, always prefer to do that in the company of a human. 

Let me put it this way: DOGS NEVER EVER WANT TO BE ALONE.

The minute the door shuts, we are already imagining you coming back. Sometimes you do, but it's only because you forgot your keys or something. Then you leave again and time stops. I don't care how many pretty birds are singing or who walks by outside, we just want you back. 

And that's despite the fact that I'm from Brooklyn i.e. tough. 

The Dreaded Word: Vacation

One of the things I wanted to do in creating this blog, was to help humans understand canines better. I know we've been "man's best friend" for ages (and woman's) and a lot of you believe we give you unconditional love (and we do, sometimes). 

Still, a lot of you have settled into this really typical human pattern of "I'm the boss and I train you to fit my life". Fine. Dogs don't have weird egos that get in the way of deciding where I'm gonna pee today. Nevertheless, humans could use a little help when it comes to understanding us and that is what I write about here. Mostly. 

So about two weeks ago, this word VACATION started being thrown around the house. I ignore it for a bit because this is a favorite word of all humans, something they like to spend a lot of time thinking about and discussing even if it ends up not happening. Meanwhile, I'm thinking: vacation from what? You have a beautiful house; lots of food; nice walks. Wadda you gotta go anywhere else for? 

But go they did. Miss KnowItAll (my female owner) gives me lots of kisses and tells me she loves me before they leave, which is all well and good but HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF THEM when they are so far away????

Do you realize the amount of anxiety having your owners in some other location for a week produces? The scenarios you come up with? What if they never come back? What if they eat bad fish and you can't sniff it out for them before? What if they drown and I'm not around to rescue them? What if a raccoon infiltrates the kitchen? (http://www.fuckedinparkslope.com/home/attack-of-the-raccoons.html)

I couldn't live with that sort of guilt. 

So despite the fact that they usually ask their lovely friend Hannah to come stay with me, I always have a miserable time. It's not about her. I love that girl. Known her since she was like 12, I think. And she loves this old mutt and takes care of me but it's next to impossible to try to enjoy her company when I'm imagining them petting another dog somewhere in an exotic island. Do you know how good those dogs are at feigning homelessness?

Okay, so the obvious question is why don't they take me with, right?

To begin with, Hayes don't fly. I'm from Brooklyn. I got on one of those plane things once and once only. It almost gave me a heart attack and I don't want to ever repeat it again. I think my owners realized that when they saw the amount of hair I'd lost during the so-called flight.

So there's that. But I have been taken on vacation a few times by them. The trip is always the nicest. Singing in the car, listening to the news, frequent pit stops, a bit of prosciutto here and there... Not bad. But then when we get to the place it's back to hard for me. As I've outlined before we dogs have a lot of jobs and they only get multiplied when humans are "on vacation".

I mean one of the first times they took me with, do you know what I smelled right away? BEARS. I mean, bears! Who in their right mind wants to go camping where bears live? And who do you think had to warn them every time I smelled one? And then who do you think got yelled at for barking too much?

Vacation, smhacation. It's a lose lose for us dogs. 

Pedigree - Part I

It seems the cat is out of the bag.  (Sidebar: I hate that expression.  Not because I have anything against cats.  I actually think cats are hilarious.  Especially the ones on the youtubes.  I just don't know what the cat was doing in the bag in the first place.  Seems cruel.  And I'm against animal abuse of any form.  Except squirrels.  They can get the plague for all I care.  Anyhoo...)

In my last post I revealed that I was, for a short time during my late puppy years, homeless.  I haven't been able to respond to all the emails asking me about this because (a) I'm a dog and my internet access is limited and (b) I'm 91 years old; these old paws can't type like they used to.

The short answer is, it's a long story, but here's the beginning part of it.

I was born into a litter of four mutts in an alley in Park Slope.  My mother herself was of mixed-breed, while my father was a purebred German Shepherd.

He was a strict disciplinarian, quick with a growl but short on patience with my siblings and me.  Seemed he was always "working" and "needed his space."

Despite his stern demeanor, my father was a brilliant comedian.  He could have been one of the biggest stars of Vaudeville, but for two things: (1) the rampant discrimination towards dogs and; (2) the fact that he couldn't talk.  Funny jokes, but zero delivery, right?

Through his diligence, though, he wound up writing for some of the great Borscht belt comedians of his day: Joey Adams, Mort Sahl, Shecky Greene...  Of course, no one knows about it - or pretends not to.  Last thing Buddy Hackett's going to admit is that most of his comedy was written by a German Shepherd.  But whaddya gonna do, right?

Well, what my father did was leave.  He resented my siblings and me, thought we were the ones keeping him from his dream, and left my mother to raise four pups on her own.

She did the best she could, my mother.  And my father?  I never saw him again.

The neighborhood became my surrogate, the restaurants, bars, alleyways, and people of Brooklyn my masters and best friends.  Scraps of food from the co-op.  Free concerts at the conservatory.  Yeah... we survived all right.

And even though I'm enjoying my Golden Years out here in sunny SoCal, those years on the streets of Park Slope are while I'll always be...

-Brooklyn Hayes.