Tusslin' and Splashin'

Lothar is making himself welcome and proving himself to be a wonderful dog. But we know we can't keep him and Michael has taken over the task of contacting lab-rescue sources so that we can find him a home. He's been in touch with some Swiss woman up in Washington State whose apparent mission in life is to save all labs and who is sending us de-worming pills, an application and a list of precise instructions which we must follow or be disqualified. Michael and I exchange a look, but decide to play along anyway.

In the DoggieSphere, oblivious to what is going on on planet-human, Fips and Lothar are tusseling eachother out.

"He is very playful and, in the several days we've had him, has struck up a tossling, running friendship with our wire-haired dachshund -- who apparently couldn't resist liking the 'intruder'. The lab, whom we've temporarily named 'Lothar', loves to run, roll around, and wrestle. "

I'm relieved and amazed at how Fips and Lothar have worked out their equilibrium. `They surely have to be conscious of the disparity in their sizes and strengths but there doesn't seem to be any jockeying for domi- nance. Instead their wrestling consists in a spontaneous choreography of playful positioning.

We've been very careful to be even-steven with both on everything, and almost immediately upon beginning our therapeutic stroking of Lothar we realized that we'd have to show equal attention to Mr. Fips. Once "security" was established the way was clear for puppy-friendship.

The cats want none of this and have reserved themselves into their own world.

-0O0-

“We took him to the Bay on Sunday, and he plunged in and started paddling about in total doggie-joy."

Sunday was perfect outing weather and so Mike and I took the dogs to the "Oh-shin"at Wiley Field by the bay. I ran my five miles while Mike and Lothar lolled on the grass and Fips ran to and fro between us . When I had finished, we all headed down to the water.



Michael held onto Lothar while we gave Fips a little "bal" time to himself and then released the water-pup into his element.

Here we did have to moderate the situation because the excitement of being in water so overwhelms Lothar that he nearly drowned Fips who, needless to say, was stunned and none too pleased.

But no grudges held and both got their fill of water-time.

What well-being to be able to run in the sun along water's edge and then splash about in the oh-shin with happy dogs.

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Lothar

The second order of business was to....

The big pup followed with a trusting uncertainty as I led him down to hall and into the shower stall. No doubt he had been washed before and knew what it was all about; but everything else being unfamiliar he could not know what was going to be about until it started.

And then... it was the usual long suffering hang-dog looks, as his thick fur was copiously soaped up and rinsed with the warm water spray from the shower "massager". Once out, he impatiently let himself be dried before shaking his coat and rolling around the house crazy-like as the cats flew to places unseen.

"So what shall we call him?" I asked. Michael had no idea. "Big Boy?" he wondered. "Nahh..."

We had recently been paid a visit by one of Michael's friends from Germany - a good natured twenty something guy with an insouciance bordering on unawaredness that was enjoyable precisely on account of its inherent happiness.

How about "Lothar?" I asked. Michael looked at the dog for a moment. "Yeah..."

"Should we keep him?"

Of course, it depended in the first instance on Mr. Fips, who held the veto; and Mr. Fips was manifestly not enthusiastic. Lothar was obliviously making himself comfy, while Fips had a look that mixed hurt, annoyance and apprehension. ... a typical FipsMix of doggi-emotion.

[click to enlarge]

"We'll have to see how they get along," Mike said.

But deep down we both knew there was another veto. The dark force of the landlord. Two cats, a dog and now a rambunctious lab puppy was pushing the limits by any measure. And besides, even with all our daily walkings, an apartment is no place for a lab

But for the meanwhile, Lothar was here and this was his home. Michael also noticed that Lothar was a tad hand-shy. He was too galumphy to have been seriously abused, but he had been hit it was clear. So we undertook de-conditioning therapy, routinely holding his head in our lap petting and stroking it very ostensibly. We estimated he was not more than six months old (five as it turned out) and that we could rehab him of whatever negative reflex he had developed.

From the first, the thing that was most endearing about Lothar was his doggie faith -- a willingness to allow himself unto hands apprehended and purposes unknown. It was not fear because he never cowered; nor was it resignation because he was too galumphy to have given up on life. No, it was a trusting uncertainty that was as much an exercise of hope, in its doggie way, as our own.

He made the most of his luck and once the cats came out of hiding, the human was now definitely the lesser fraction of my bed.

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Guess What

This morning, at around ten, I looked out the window and noticed that the lake shore traffic was pretty light. It was sunny, but still moderately cool. "Good time for a quiet amble," I thought. "Aus, Fipsie?" When has he ever said no? So, keys and leash in hand we headed to the elevator, descended downstairs, scampered down the hallway and made it outside, where Fips chased across the street to check out the shrubs and stubby trees and see what news there was since yesterday.

I was standing around idly, giving Fips a long lead, when I noticed a big black lab walking down the gravel path around lake's edge. The dog looked up at me, hesitated and then continued on slowly and somewhat uncertainly. I looked up the path from whence he had come but did not see anyone. I looked back over to where Fips was sniffing and again did not see anyone. The lab was alone.

"Hey little doggie...."

The lab stopped, half turned around and uneasily let me approach him.

"What's up?"

He flinched as I held out my hand.

I slowed my motions and eased into patting him on the side on neck. The dog had a harness but no tags. He was not emaciated and looked fairly well groomed.

"You lost, little doggie?"

I stood back again and looked about as Fips stood by and gave me a stare that said, C'mon, lez go

More likely he had been abandoned.

What to do, I wondered. But, of course, there was really no alternative. I reached over and extended my hand to make friendlies with the dog. He flinched again but was otherwise amenable to my coooing and caressing. After a short while of these introductions, I wrapped my hand around his harness and led him back to the road, tugging a baffled and sulky Fips with the other hand.

"Okay!" and we all chased across the street back to the apartment, down the hallway, into the elevator and up to our floor. The lab followed easily and was obviously domesticated. Fips followed and was obviously not too happy by this turn around of events. A walk is supposed to be a walk and...

I opened the door. The dog ran into the living room, came to an abrupt halt in the middle and let loose a stream of doggie wasser onto the carpet.

"Noooooooooo!"

Michael came out of his room.

"Guess what?"

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Fips Wins His Case

Fortunately, the law library was just across the like so it was easy to investigate Oakland's leash law. Section I. 3-9.07b provided that dogs had to be on leash on under voice control. Aha!

So armed with this information and the obvious argument that flowed from it, I duly appeared in court at the appointed hour.

The court room was a small wood panelled room on the second or third floor of the Courthouse. When I arrived no one else was in court. So I sat down in the theatre chairs and waited. After a while several police officers came in and sat down across the aisle. Other than that, the courtroom was empty.

The clerk arranged her stamps and was followed shortly thereafter by the Commissioner. My case was called. I answered, "present".

....

No one else answered anything.

Fips' "at large" rights were vindicated. I wish I could explain this triumph to the little Mr Fuzzy.

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Fips At Large

Early this afternoon Fips and I went for a poke-about at Peralta Park. As usual, no one was there and we had the sun and grass and quiet to ourselves. I had spent most of the morning at the glow box and wasn't feeling very energetic, so after a while I lay down on the park's soft herbal matting. Fips followed suit a little more than an arm's length away. I closed my eyes and thought how nice and lucky it was to be here on the grass with my doggie pal each of us enjoying the quiet, the grass and the sun. All of a sudden, I felt the shadow of a presence.

At first I expected a friendly verbal warning. Instead I got a friendly citation for having a dog "at large". How absurd! He wasn't "at large;" he was "at a plop" right next to me.

We shall fight this!! [-->]

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Fipsie's First

It’s Fipsie’s birthday!! Michael wanted to do something and a couple of days ago alerted me that Fips’ birthday was coming up.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, can’t we take Fips some place special?”

And so, it being bright and breezy, come mid morning we piled into the truck and drove over to the new shoreline park at what used to be Crissy Field.

As we got to the Marina, we pulled into the Safeway at Gas Lamp Cove to buy ourselves some chips and sandwiches and, of course, something special for Fips.

“So what kind of cake will we get him?”

Michael wanted a beef-cake -- a big hunk-o-beef with a candle. So slab-o-sirloin it was.

Thus provided we drove down to the sandy beach area half-way to Fort Point and parked next to a table under a cluster of wind-blown trees. As soon as we got the food out, Fips was all nose. Of course, it was typical Bay Blustery and there was no hope for any candle, so we decided just to sing to the dog once everything was spread out.

“Happy biiii-rthday to you! Happy biiii-rthday to you! Happy biiii-rthday dear Fi-i-pise....”

?

“I think we should at least cut it in half...”

“That would probably be a good idea...”

Cake cut, we put it on a paper plate for the Birthday Pup.

GULP.

I don’t know what we expected. Fips was delighted, of that there is no question. But dogs do not dally over red meat.

GULP

And that, before we even had taken a bite out of our sandwiches, was the end of the birthday cake. It was all so business like in a canine sort of way that it was kind of a let down in a human kind of way.

But, although he may not have grasped the reason why, a big slab of sirloin is always a special and exciting treat for a doggie; and so, even if he enjoyed it in his gulping doggie way, there is no doubt that Fips did relish an extra and special treat on his birthday.

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Salty Pup

Michael came back late one afternoon, all enthused about the Oakland - San Francisco ferry.

"There's a ferry to San Francisco?"

"Yes, it leaves from Jack London Square and it's really great. Fipsie loves it."

"You took Fips on the boat???"

"Yes, they allow doggies ... Fipsie really loved it."

What next? I wondered.

Michael went on about how friendly the people were on the ferry and how they were all charmed by Fipster who, of course, went up to greet them all and "really had a great time."

"You really ought to come, sometime."

So now it was a week or two later and Michael was up for an Oshin passage. It was a mild sunny day and we didn't need to take much other than light windbreakers, a leash and the blue "doggie-canteen" for Fips.

We followed our usual route through Peralta Park, along the channel, across the railroad tracks and up Estuary Park to Jack London Square. Fips, as is his wont, was stumping along merrily. He likes any spaziergang, but he likes it best when a gang does the spaziering.

Mike was right. As we neared the docking area, Fips led the way. Unfortunately, we had missed the earlier crossing, so we had to kill time walking around the docks and looking at old yachts which we fantasized owning. Fips was good humoured, but it seemed to me he was wondering if boat fun was in the offing. He had definitely had an expectation focused on a place.

At length the return ferry docked. We waited in queue under the striped awning as its passengers disembarked. Once our gate was opened, Fips trotted on eagerly quite oblivious to the forest of legs around him.

The ferry was crowded, but we found a seat to the right by the stern of the boat, in the open air. We kept Fips under a tight rein until all the to'ing and fro'ing settled down, and the engine cranked up its motors. To the even churning grind of gears, the boat pulled away from shore and made its way ever so slowly down the Oakland Channel.

Once we hit the open bay, the grind of the gears increased in pitch and we picked up speed. I picked up Fips and the wind rustled through our fur and hair.

There is no question that Fips was having a ball, the sea air in his nostrils, the wind in his fuzzy mane, the secure grip of my hands, the even trembling of the motors, the sun warming his body -- all must have made for a total sensory thrill. He wanted to look -- and did look -- o'er all the expanse of sea.

Nearing the Bay Bridge, an ominous cavernous and creaking sound emanated from on high. In photographs, these famous bay spans look silent and majestic. Until you've stood under one of these leviathan you don't realize how noisy they are. Fips looked up, alerted by the sound; more fascinated than scared.

"Look, Fips. Big Bridge," I said somewhat moronically as Fips went back to nosing the wind.

Once we got to San Francisco, we let the other passengers disembark before we let Fips charge on out. Interesting thing about doggies, is that they sense when something begins, and when something else begins... and something else again. And each new beginning of something is met with fresh excitement. I guess this makes for a kind of on-going happiness.

We had nothing to do in San Francisco but to head on back. By now, though, Fips was getting tired and decided to take a sailor's snooze in the corner, reviving for the walk back home where he sacked out for the rest of the day until chow time.

Mike took several more ferry excursions with Fips and always came back announcing what a fun time doggie-boy had had. I don't doubt dog-man did too.

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