Reunion

I have kept all Duncan's toys, regardless of their condition. All of them reside in the small bureau where we keep his brushes and combs, the nail trimmers, the countless tennis and golf balls we've collected over the years, everything. Regardless of their condition, they are all there, from his Baby to his Beaker, his Bugsy and Bear, his Berry and Bobo, the Blue Buddha, his Bac-O (a pink fuzzy pig), Bah-Bah, Bash (his hammerhead shark), Bubbles (the bright orange catfish he never really took to) all of them, most of whom have now moved into a nameless haze of not-quite-memory. 

Tonight, after playing in the snow, after cuddling for a bit on the bed and playing with his Buzz (a now-wingless green dragonfly) and his Beluga (a green and orange salmon), I decided to pull out all the toys and toss them on the bed around Roo. I expected great rejoicing and frantic playing as many of them (mostly the legless or headless ones, the ones that are little more than scraps of fur or remnants of paws) haven't seen the light of day in well over a decade.

Instead I received a sort of stunned silence, the kind I remember from the moment I stepped foot inside the bar where my twenty-year high school reunion was held. It was a room filled people I remembered, many I didn't, faces and names that hadn't crossed my mind since the end of the 80s. It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and somewhat sad.

Dunc didn't know what to do. He just laid there and stared at them, occasionally leaning forward to sniff at them or nudge them with his nose. It was the first time they'd been assembled in a single place (not scattered among the three drawers of the bureau where they normally reside). I imagined he didn't know what to make of all those bits of his past, spanning his puppy days all the way to his most recent birthday when Beluga joined the family. It must've been awkward seeing Bunny cavorting with the Blue Buddha. That would've been like seeing Chris Krai, my childhood friend from my hardcore nerd days sitting at a table with the people I work with.

But mostly he just looked sad and as my brain tried to make sense of it, and my heart began reading things into it that it shouldn't, I decided we'd both had enough, scooped them up and put them all away.

As my friend April once said, "Sometimes it's best to just leave a good memory alone."

Friends and Storms

The clouds rolled in early this afternoon, high and dark, without much of a wind, but with tremendous drama. I had just enough time to take Duncan out for a quick walk before the thunder and lightning started right overhead. We ducked inside and while I turned on the fans, cranked the stereo up high, and slipped him into his Thundershirt, the rain started. It was not a shy rain, but came suddenly and with great force, turning the day into dusk, scenting the air with that lake smell I miss from my days in Chicago. Dunc put on a brave face, staying close and not hiding, but making sure I was always close enough to touch. It rained and thundered for an hour or so and then was gone. The skies opened up, the air became muggy, and afternoon slipped quietly into evening. Duncan and I sat on the patio, he snoring while I read for a few hours, and all seemed right with the world.

And then it started again. This time the lightning was much lower and closer, the thunder shaking the apartment. There was little I could do to drown out the rumble, so I cuddled with Roo on the couch and slipped him treats and praise for as long as he could stand it. While I straightened the apartment he seemed busy darting back and forth between the living room and the bedroom on a hurried and secret mission. He vanished as the storm reached its peak, the rain roaring, the flowers hanging from my patio swaying in the wind, lightning somehow making the daylight even brighter. When I finally went to investigate I found him in the bedroom, his nose tucked under my bed. In days past he took great comfort in crawling under the bed, his belly rubbing the carpet, his tousled head occasionally bumping against the underside of the box spring. The arrival of my new bed several years ago put an end to that as it was much too low for him to crawl under. Since then he's contented himself with squeezing his nose and a paw or two under it. It's not much but it makes him feel better.

While I'd been preoccupied with weekend chores he'd been busy between thunderclaps collecting his friends and hurrying them into the bedroom where he could cuddle with them and wait the storm out. I curled up next to him, stroked a paw, and whispered encouraging words into his ear. He stayed there long after I left and didn't come out until the storm had passed.

As I sit on the patio again, the sun long since set, the crickets and night critters chirping, the wind is picking up again. The leaves on the Lindens and cottonwoods are brushing against each other, trying their hardest to sound like the waves I miss on Lake Michigan, and I can see flashes of lightning in the north. Dunc will most likely sleep on the bed with us tonight, and that's just fine. Sometimes we all need a little extra help to make it through the difficult times.

Murder and Mayhem

(AP, Littleton, Colorado)

Terror has returned to this small community once again.

Shortly after dawn this morning, Mayor Curt awoke to find one of its long term residents, Frog, brutally disfigured and disemboweled in the living room. Rogers alerted authorities but after viewing the crime scene, none seemed optimistic about solving the crime.

"It's no wonder," Rogers was quoted as saying. "Two years ago Percy the Penguin suffered a similar fate , being ripped limb from limb. The poor soul never recovered and has been in intensive care ever since." Bah-Bah, our pacifist sheep, was pushed from a balcony and found dead the next morning. Authorities have long suspected that Bah-Bah was pushed as a means of silencing him before he could reveal the identity of Percy's atacker.

Clues to these crimes have been scarce, as Officer Bobster the Lobster, chief detective on the scene reported. "Whoever is committing these atrocities is doing them under cover of darkness while the locals are asleep. No eyewitnesses, no fingerprints, no nuthin'."

The only link between the three victims is their good friend and trusted playmate, Duncan "Roo" Rogers, who claims to have been in bed asleep at the time of the murder. A source close to Mr. Roo says he is beside himself with grief and is too shocked to leave bed and make a statement at this time.

Whether or not Duncan "Roo" is a suspect, Officer Bobster will not say. Rather, he and other members of the police force urge anyone with any information to come forward.

Hammerhead

With many of Duncan's pals still locked safely away in ICU and showing no signs of immediate recovery (read: I haven't exactly made stitching them up a high priority), I figured it was time to see if we couldn't make him some new friends so I took him over to Hero's so he could pick out someone new to bring home. After trying out a couple of plush lions, one or two plastic squeaky things and licking the basket of bully sticks every time he walked by, Dunc finally settled on something unusual and unexpected, a bright blue hammerhead shark with orange and white flowers sprinkled along his back and a rather deep and raspy squeak when squeezed. He's made of sturdy fiber and floats in water so he makes a nice toy to bring into the tub.

It took awhile to settle on a name for his new pal, especially since we tend to stick primarily to the B's (Buddy, Baby, Bah-Bah, Blue Buddha, Beaker and Berry) but Duncan eventually picked out the perfect name himself. After a day or two of carrying the shark around the apartment by the tail and shaking him furiously back and forth, knocking over anything and everything not tied down, we settled on Bash.

I'm just happy he's soft otherwise my shins would be bruised and Pip––who has also showed an interest in Bash––would be in the ICU with Roo's other friends.

Crime and Punishment Revisited

It was another grisly morning here. It seems that some time during the night Duncan tried, convicted and punished another of his friends. While Percy the Penguin is still recovering from last month's horrific disemboweling, Duncan has struck again, this time casting judgment on the closest of pals, his treasured and beloved Bah-Bah.

I'm not exactly sure what the crime was, or if one was even committed, or if perhaps this isn't a message meant for me, but Bah-Bah has literally fallen out of favor.

What I do know is this: some time between midnight and 6 AM, Bah-Bah, who was last seen resting beside Duncan on his pillow, fell three stories to the hard concrete below.

I didn't realize Duncan's most trusted friend was even missing. It wasn't until we walked this morning that I discovered the mangled body laying in a heap below our balcony.

Bah-Bah, legless, deaf and helpless, had been dropped thirty feet to a spot just outside our neighbor's garage. Duncan strolled casually by, acting as though he was oblivious to the mangled corpse of his friend, who has been with him nightly for the past two years. Duncan, who remembers every place he's ever seen a squirrel. Duncan, who can locate a golf ball under a foot of snow. Duncan, who hunts out lilacs and sunflowers from miles away and can spot a bunny in the thickest of shrubs or concealed deep in the tallest grass.

Bah-Bah, the truest and most loyal of buddies, was found on his side, his eyes open, the stitched-on smile still on his face. I gasped and rushed to his side. Thankfully––despite the tremendous wound in his side––he was still alive. I scooped him up and turned to Roo, who had taken a sudden very intense interest in a gum wrapper. We climbed the stairs and delivered Bah-Bah to the ICU with Percy before returning outside for our walk. Dunc kept a low profile, ambling quietly beside me, head down, as though nothing had happened.

The events of last night have rocked our apartment. Despite my assurances Buddy and Beaker, Baby and the Blue Buddha are terrified that they're next on the hit list.

I think it's time to pull in some outside help.

Crime and Punishment

Despite the fact that nearly all of them have had their limbs removed, and most lack faces, Duncan is quite gentle with his toys. I keep a drawer full of them, a sort of asylum for friends loved nearly to death, and switch them out every few weeks so that he doesn't get bored and restless. But when I wait too long he wastes no time in letting me know that the time has come to mix things up.

Percy, the first of his friends whose name did not start with a "B," joined our clan a few months back and quickly became a favorite. A terrycloth penguin with a bright yellow beak, eyelid-soft wings and two awkward little feet, Percy went wherever Roo went, and whenever he wasn't being tenderly carried back and forth across the apartment in Duncan's mouth, he was tucked protectively under a paw where he received a nearly constant bath. And because he was vaguely football-shaped I enjoyed him because he could be thrown with a nice spin, black and white whirling through the air hypnotically. Each night Dunc took him to bed, pulling his blanket over him to keep him safe and warm and each morning it became more and more difficult to take Percy away and put him up until I returned from work.

I don't know why exactly he fell out of favor but this evening after our walk, while I tended first to Facebook, then to dinner and a small glass of wine, Duncan made it perfectly clear that Percy had somehow offended and needed to be relocated into the witness protection program, replaced by Leon, the plush fuzzy red bone our friend Nik sent to us. I discovered the hapless penguin dismembered on the floor not far from the water dish, his wings and flappy feet forcibly removed from his body and missing entirely, his belly torn open, stuffing spilling out onto the carpet like cottage cheese. I quickly re-stuffed him and placed him on a high shelf where he will be safe until I can sew him up and tuck him into the asylum for a few months, at least until Dunc has forgiven him his crimes.

Until then he has Bah-Bah, his legless lamb, and Leon to see him through. Here's hoping no further infractions have been committed and Duncan won't be preoccupied with punishing the conspirators.

Morning Mischief Managed

Perhaps because I never saw my basket of yarn as anything other than benevolent until it turned on me and almost destroyed my dog, I now look at every object I own with a suspicious eye. What if the couch––solid and immovable––were to suddenly tip under the soft weight of Winnie and fall back and crush the children in one, quick blow? What if I left the stove on and cooked every animal and beloved object not only in my apartment but the entire building? Or what if I didn't make the bed and the cats crawled under the covers and, trapped by a maze of twisted blankets and a wall of pillows, suffocated, their plaintive cries unheard by the only person who could save them? It's absurd (and more than a bit of an exaggeration, I might add!) but after the skein of red yarn I bought for a scarf intended for my sister ended up in Duncan's intestines, let's just say I'm cautious.

That's why every morning, after making my tea and preparing my five fruit breakfast, I take all of Duncan's toys––Percy, his penguin, the Bah-Bah, the Birdy, Buddy and the Baby, and perch them atop my DVD shelf where he can't get to them, rip them open and choke on their fluffy innards. He doesn't like it one bit and upon my arrival home in the evening,  insists emphatically that they all immediately be returned to the ground where he can play with and terrorize them. I leave only the tennis balls for him to play with, while I'm gone and perhaps, if he's very sly, a stray kiwi.

This morning after tending to my rituals I went in search of the toys and discovered that Duncan had taken action while I showered, spending that valuable time hiding his little, armless and legless, and sometimes faceless friends, all over the apartment. Percy was tucked away on his pillow, nestled down between the blanket Chelsea gave him for Christmas and the throw mom knitted for him. If it hadn't been for Percy's bright yellow beak I may not have noticed him at all. The blue bone was concealed in Winnie's fort, an old shoe box I keep under an end table where she hides for hours, peeking up slowly and carefully so that just the green of her big eyes are visible. Buddy was stashed between the bed and the window, down among the blankets where it would've been all too easy to miss him. After a careful search of the entire apartment I'd rounded everyone up except Bah-Bah, who remained unaccounted for. Duncan ate his breakfast, indifferent to my search, or so it seemed, until I returned to the bedroom to find him curled up on the bed, the mangled lamb tucked under one paw while he received a very attentive and thorough bath.

He was not happy when I took him away and placed him up on the tower with the rest of them. He sighed loudly, harumphed and wouldn't look at me when I left. I'll make it up to him and stop by Hero's for a bully stick before I come home.

It's the time away from home that alarms me. He and the cats have all day to plot and plan and I'm beginning to doubt I'm smart enough to keep up with them.

Dreams and Devotion

Although Duncan didn't hide under the bed at my departure this morning, he wouldn't leave it. As I gathered my things, packed my lunch and mixed myself a nice iced chai, he curled up next to Winnie and wouldn't move, and even when I came in to scratch behind his ears and give him a kiss on top of his head he barely stirred. Now that he's gotten a taste of how his days could be spent, knows that not too far away is a land of tall trees, glorious water reflecting all the colors of the day and instant four-legged friendships, where dogs run free and everyone carries a tennis ball or two in his or her pocket, I won't be able to compete. Unless, of course, I call in the troops, which even Duncan, in all his infinite wisdom, is helpless against. They've shared far too many times together, battled afternoon boredom and the conspiracies of the cats, somehow muddled through together on long trips to and from Idaho, been steadfast friends during my weekend vacuuming duty. They don't go on walks with us, and these days several of them––the faceless and limbless ones, especially––have been relieved of duty, but he's fiercely loyal to them and can't resist their call.

As long as these guys are on my side, Duncan will always be true to me, and even though he won't get daily swims and trips to the backyards of my friends where he can consume seemingly bottomless bowls of their dog's kibble, his heart will belong right here at home.

(From left to right: Berry, Blue Bone, Baby, Bah-Bah and Buddy)

Duncan's Evening

Tonight I am tired and Duncan has been especially eager to play. His Bah-Bah has dangled from his mouth all evening, from the moment he met me at the door and then later when I returned from the grocery store. He looks hopeful and I can't help wanting to sit and play with him, tossing his various toys down the hallway or across the rooms and then scampering to hide while he retrieves them. It is a game we play often. There is such delight in everything he does that even though my body is tired and I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, I will stop and spend my last hour wrestling and cavorting, doing the things that mean so much to him. He seems desperate for it and his face is big and open, as though wondering why I'm doing anything other than crawl around the floor with him. We will take our walk in the cool night and I will watch the bright Big Dipper while he watches for bunnies and when we are done he will wrap himself around my feet and rest his head on my shin and we'll meet in our dreams where there will be plenty of time for play.

Om

Tonight, after the work barbecue, when I got home far later than I should have, Duncan and the kittens were waiting in the window for me, bleak, sad expressions on their faces as they thought of the dinners which should have been served three hours earlier. Winnie darted behind the big planter in the dining room while Pip scolded me from the back of the couch. Olive entwined herself between my ankles, as though either trying to endear herself to me or to cause a fall which could potentially result in my death. It was difficult to tell which. Only Duncan seemed genuinely happy to greet me, but he did it silently, clutching the maimed and disfigured thing that is all that remains of his Bah-Bah in his jaw, his hips swinging wildly back and forth. It was an unusual greeting, not his typical chirping and singing and I didn't wonder after it until well into our walk, down the dark lane to the mailbox, across the wide parking lot and back up the sidewalk in front of the property. It was a silent night with long empty and soundless spaces between the cars on Bowles which gave me time to hum the mantra from "Across the Universe," and actually hear myself rather than just feel the act of humming in my chest and throat. Duncan walked lazily beside me, no tension in his leash, a quiet, ambling sort of walk, keeping his body close to mine. I watched the stars while he watched the grass, we splashed in deep puddles which turned my flip-flops into slimy fish. We moved effortlessly beside each other, silent and listening.

And then over my humming, Jai Guru Deva, Om. Nothing's gonna change my world, came the sound of the crickets. It was a sound I didn't know I hadn't heard all summer until it slipped so casually into my head. How do you describe a sound you know so well but didn't know you'd missed until it was lost and then found again? Their song was like the sweetest fragrance of childhood or the discovery of a forgotten and never seen photograph of a lost loved one, or even the sight of a fat, full moon on the first night of real summer. It was... well, it was music to my ears, strange and familiar all at once, soothing and exciting, making me want to curl up on the patio where I could listen to them and only them while also enticing me to walk and walk and keep walking and not stop until after the sun had climbed the morning trellis and the chorus had retired.

What force had kept them silent all summer I do not know. I only know that their soft and rhythmic chirrup was the Om in my hum, the sacred beginning and end of this gentle night, the last free night of my summer, like the fluttering of butterfly wings against my cheek or a lullaby gift from the universe.

Working with Duncan

When the boss is away the dogs will play. Duncan made another guest appearance at work today, enjoying a leisurely afternoon of being fawned over by everyone, listening to some rockin' good tunes and chasing his ball and his blue bone up and down the aisles. He wasn't quite as reserved as he has been in the past, so I'd toss a toy down a long aisle and work furiously for a minute or so while he searched for it then brought it back, plopping it down at my feet and pawing at the back of my chair for more attention. When he grew tired of his own toys he vanished for a bit and returned with a tiny, stuffed pig which was attired in a t-shirt emblazoned with the school's name (a fitting symbol if ever there was one!). He did that last Summer, which resulted in our adoption of his Berry, but seeing as he's still ripping through his Bah-Bah I thought it best to return the pig to its spot on the shelf. Besides, all of his toys start with the letter B and I couldn't think of anything fitting for the pig. Some things just aren't meant to be.

A Cool, Shady Spot

At times it seems all that matters is the walk, if not for me, then for Duncan. From the moment I get up and get dressed it's time for our morning walk. Barely am I in the door after work and he's doing dances and chirping for our afternoon walk. On the weekends he sits and pines in the windows and casts forlorn looks over his shoulder at me, accusatory and full of remorse. How could I think of doing anything other than walk? Walk, walk, walk. With Duncan it's easy to believe the walk is the driving force behind his entire existence. Quite often it even takes precedence over meals. Some dogs are food motivated (and don't think Duncan isn't), some are play motivated (again, don't let him fool you), but with Duncan, more than anything, he's walk motivated.

And that's why I was confused this afternoon on jaunt through the park. It was a lovely day. The birds were out, squirrels were undulating across the grass, the flowers were out in full force and the last of the trees are finally beginning to nudge awake. I packed the ball, a pocket full of treats and was ready to go. Duncan dragged me across the street, but once we were there he didn't seem all the excited to move. He sniffed around for a bit, chased after his ball once or twice but failed to bring it back both times, andt finally decided he didn't want to walk. He merely wanted to sit.

He picked a nice, shady patch of grass quite close to one of the baseball fields and on the edge of a sunny spot and simply sprawled out and watched the small insects as they hummed over and around us, floating like specks of gold against the sunlight. He rolled a bit but gave even that up, finally settling on his back with his legs in the air and his blond belly exposed to the tall sky. Today was about sitting, about letting the world come to us, or not come, he had no preference. The grass was cool and long, not quite ready for cutting, fragrant and eager to tickle. I plopped down next to him and together we watched the little leaguers play ball, watched one small cloud, lonely and not very excited about being a cloud, drift across the sun before calling it quits and vanishing altogether. I think he dozed a bit and I could've, too, but just when my eyes started getting heavy, the crack of a fly-ball broke the calm, we both startled and realized it was time to go home. He had some dinner to eat, his Bah-Bah to groom and I had laundry to attend to.

I think he knew what was best. All this rushing and moving to see and experience as much as possible just wasn't on the agenda today. And that's just as good as the walk. Maybe even better.

Rest for The Roo

I've cuddled next to Dunc on the couch and he seems to be in good spirits. He ate most of his dinner, drank some water and even had one heck of a pee an hour ago. Winnie and Pip have stayed close as well, and he's carried his Bah-Bah with him where ever he goes. I'm sure he'll spread out long and wide on my half of the bed tonight, which seems to be the secret to dog happiness and health. We'll keep you posted.

Bah-Bah

Duncan fell in love with his Berry the moment he first laid eyes on him and they've been inseparable ever since. I try to rotate his toys––The Baby (a squirrel, now missing most of its face and two paws), The Buddy (an opossum which scared the hell out of him when they first met, but once its rather creepy tail was dispatched he warmed right up to it), The Blue Bone (a bright blue plastic toy shaped like a bone) and his Berry (the teddy bear he met while on a brief field trip to the college bookstore where I work)––but he just won't let go of the Berry. He carries it with him all over the house, grooming it, gnawing on the stub that was once its tail, keeping it nice and moist at all times. He curls up with it on the couch, tosses it around when I'm too busy blogging to play, and takes particular joy in slapping it down on my head when I'm in bed, leaving wet little smears across my cheek. He's quite fond of it.

Recently we welcomed a new member of The Duncan Clan, a soft, white sheep with floppy ears and narrow little nostrils we're calling his Bah-Bah. It's a cute thing, and although he's been reluctant to give up any time with Berry, Bah-Bah has slowly been making her way into his heart. He's been very careful not to favor her and has offered Berry equal licking and grooming time, but tonight I caught him cuddling with her on the couch. Berry was nowhere to be found.