Firsts and Lasts

Duncan has never been a water dog. He simply does not enjoy it. He tolerates the occasional bath and has even voluntarily climbed into the tub to let me rinse the ice-balls from between his paws after a long, snowy walk in the park, but the whole notion of water has always made him nervous. I've watched him pace anxiously along the shore of many a pond, whining at the geese and ducks just out of range, and he's even taken a tepid step or two in, but inevitably reconsiders and turns his red back on the entire affair. Lately I've been thinking that with Spring coming on it would be a good time to give him a bath and good combing, especially since Kevi, Mike and The Boys will be spending the next two days with us. I haven't exactly been dreading it, but I have been plotting and planning how the whole thing will go down.

Duncan and I celebrated Chocolate Bunny Day by joining Kevi and her family at Rene and Donnie's for brunch and afterward I decided to take Dunc to visit Denise, our former neighbor at Stapleton. Denise is a good egg and I love her with all my heart. She was a true friend throughout my initial anxiety attacks and was one of the few people I've met since moving to Denver who I felt completely comfortable around. There is no pretense with her, which is a welcome change after years of working retail, which is nothing but pretense. Sadly, though, Denise and Martin, her husband, are moving to Missoula, taking their daughter Avery and, most importantly, Duncan's best friend, their Black Lab, Madi. I wanted to give them a chance to say their farewells, play hard and snarl at Hufflepuff, an unfortunately-named white and fluffy foo-foo dog who lives next door to Denise and Martin. Denise had other plans and we ended up going on a long walk through Stapleton, down Westerly Creek to the big pond at Central Park.

Madi, unlike Duncan, is very much a water dog. I can't tell you the number of walks I shared with Denise that ended up with Madi bounding into a pond to chase the ducks or the Killdeer which scurry around the bank or play the old Broken Wing game. Madi is enthusiastic about everything, especially water (as well as finding a way to plant her paws firmly against my testicles just about every time I see her). As we approached the big pool there was no question as to where Madi would land, but I did not expect what ended up happening. After watching Madi dive in and climb out half a dozen times, Duncan stepped up to the edge, kind of leaned forward and dove in after her.

Denise and I cheered and I found myself clapping ecstatically, my heart welling up with pride. In three and a half years I'd never once seen my dog swim. I was a bit nervous and was fully prepared to dive in after him should the situation call for it, but he was fine on his own. In and out, over and over, and although he never quite mastered the devil-may-care force of Madi's leaps, he dove nonetheless. And to add to my pride, he even followed a small gaggle of geese around the perimeter of the pool, paddling furiously to keep up, his nose and eyes the only parts of him I could see. It made me want to dance.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended. We made the long walk back to Denise's house where I said my farewells to Martin and Avery, hugging Denise while Duncan and Maddie chased each other around the yard one last time. They are good people and although I haven't seen them as often as I'd like, Denver will seem a little emptier without them. I know Duncan will miss Madi but neither of us will forget his first swim with her paddling at his side, a friendship only dogs know.

Small Things

I was gone most of the day, running around town, tending to the errands, getting gas, getting a haircut, picking out new glasses. I got home late and didn't have much time before I had to leave for dinner with Rene and Donnie and Mike and Beth (we're celebrating Rene's new job), but the highlight of the afternoon was being at The Glen with Duncan. It didn't matter that we didn't have long to play, only that The Glen still has snow and Duncan found a nice-sized stick to chew on. He played Keep-Away and wouldn't let me anywhere near him as he rested on the snowy side of the hill, the stick jutting out of his mouth as he chewed on it. There is something about Duncan with a stick in the snow that is truly magical. He ceases to be a dog, becomes something wild and untamed, bucking and thrashing with joy, head high as he dances on his back legs and spins in the air, or the way he curls his paws around it and tucks it down under his chin while he peels the bark from it. I watch him and think I could never bring him so much joy as the simple things he finds, the things I walk past or over without noticing.

If there is such a thing as reincarnation, it must take a special soul indeed to come back as a dog.

Coma

It's been a quiet day, what with coming down from the turkey, the potatoes,three different kinds of stuffing, ham, two different cranberry sauces, yams, grilled asparagus, mixed veggies with tarragon, jalapeno corn bread and the pumpkin and apple pies. As much as I love Thanksgiving, there's a part of me that's always a little ashamed afterward. Thanksgiving is both the best and the worst of American culture: a day to come together and celebrate the bounty of our lives, but also a day to glut and grow fat while so many others go without.

Ken and I had a wonderful time at Rene and Donnie's feast, but by the time we got home, well into our food coma, I barely had the energy to walk Duncan. The temperature had plummeted again (and stayed plummetted all day today) but my belly was full and warm. Before we slipped out I gave Duncan his traditional Thanksgiving meal, as inaugurated by my mother three years ago: dog food covered in shredded turkey with warm gravy poured over the top which he ate in record time. We walked up to the golf course then back down to the dog park at the far end of our complex, but even Duncan seemed to want nothing more than to come home, lay on his back and enjoy the delicious agony of overindulgence.

I gave Duncan and the cats a little more turkey this morning and the lethargy continued. Needless to say, it's been a very mellow day.

Night Walk

Duncan and I had a lovely evening. Our friends Rene (check out her Stapleton video here) and Donnie, and their daughter Nora, invited us to dinner at their house, with some other friends, Mike and Beth Martin, and their sons, Mitchell and Marcus. Duncan, was, as always, included in the invitation, but I didn't know if I'd take him as I sometimes like a night off. In the end I opted to bring him along as they like him and he likes them and having a day off isn't always all that. Besides, it's not often these days that Dunc gets to play on stairs or nose through other people's things.

It was great night. After the preliminary round of jokes about Larry Craig, we made dinner and sat at the table talking around a flock of purple balloons, which the kids were playing with, and which kept raining down on our plates. Duncan sat close–under the table–and stayed out of the way. I figured he'd situate himself near the kids, as they were the most gullible and the most likely to slip him French fries or pieces of their burgers. But he didn't, and they didn't, and I liked knowing he wasn't part of the mischief.

It was only after we got home and I was walking him in the rain that I fully felt the value of his presence there tonight. Each of the families had representation through their children, and I had mine. He made me proud; Mike, who recently lost one of the best Goldens I've ever met, said that Dunc was a good dog, a mellow dog (which couldn't be further from the truth, but I liked that he thought it).

He's a good boy and I'm proud of him and love him more than I love my own arms. I could not ask for a better friend and companion.