His Master's Voice

El Chapo is a little white puppy beloved of many people at Vaughan's Lounge, but the person who loves him the best is Big Chris.

And El Chapo loves him back. Here's El Chapo at the door, recognizing the sound of Big Chris's van pulling up outside.

Gone to the dogs

Yesterday was the parade of the Krewe of Barkus, rolling in the French Quarter.

It's a parade to celebrate our four-footed friends!

Some folks just couldn't take the excitement.

World's luckiest dog

He's about six pounds of cute.

He's just a pup. Custody of him is shared between a six year old girl named Maya and her grandparents, Cindy and Big Chris.

His name is Olaf, if you listen to Maya, or El Chapo, if you listen to Cindy and Big Chris.

His personality is more like El Chapo - a scrappy dude with needle-like teeth and a tendency to chew your fingers.

He spends his days mostly with Big Chris, whom he adores.

Sometimes, other people get to share in the love.

Jack

My dog, Jack Waterman, died yesterday. He was an older dog; 11 years. He had been having some bad arthritis pain, which I expected to nurse him through for many more years. Yesterday, he was unwilling to go out to the park. I thought it was joint pain; I gave him a pain pill and he lay on the living room carpet, panting, while I worked at my desk.

After a little while, he moved next to me, lying on the rug by my chair. I came down to the floor and stroked his face, trying to understand what he was feeling. He was still panting, heavily, and I could see that his tongue was pale lavender instead of pink. I thought about getting him to the vet, but how? If he was unable to walk, how could I get a 65 pound dog in the car?

We have a local house-call vet in the neighborhood; their office hours begin at 10 am. It was just about that time, and I was keying in the phone number, when Jack got to his feet.

He staggered weakly into the bedroom, a distance of maybe 6 feet, and then he lay down. I touched him and felt his body move with his breath, then I ducked back to my desk to grab my phone.

When I got back seconds later, he was gone.

Thank you to my good friends Linda and Scott, who helped me get Jack's body to the veterinarian clinic. Jack's ashes will be spread in a national park somewhere.

Thanks to all my good friends who hugged me and let me cry and tell stories of Jack. Thanks to all my friends online who sent me good wishes.

Jack and his friend Franny

Jack was a good dog.

Tuesday in the park with Jack

It's become a morning ritual. Get up around eight o'clock and head out the door to the Crescent Park dog run.

There's a group of about a dozen folks and their dogs that come around the same time. The dogs are now all friends, and most people know all the dogs' names. We even can remember one another's names, instead of designating them as "Augie's mom" or "Petunia's dad."

Jack has been slowing down lately, as a result of his arthritic hips. He had a bad spell this last week when it was so very cold.

But this morning, he was running and playing with the others. It keeps him active.

It's become a little community. We exchange phone numbers and text when we're heading to the park. Or we'll text, "Cold out today, dress warm." We share our social calendar. We turn one another on to cool events that are happening, or give tips on what store to find special items in. The human companionship keeps me active and connected, too.

A two-Boston morning

This morning at the Crescent Park dog run, Jack got to play with not one, but two Boston terriers!

First was Lily; she was a tiny girl.

Later in the morning, Jackson arrived.

Jack really likes to play with small dogs, and Boston terriers are one of his favorite kind of dogs. I think it's because they have such expressive faces.

It's a doggy dog world

When I was a little girl, I misheard the phrase, "It's a dog-eat-dog world," and instead thought it was "it's a doggy dog world."

Much nicer, don't you think?

These are the various dogs who hang out with Jack at the Crescent Park dog run.

Good puppy

I was sitting outside the St. Roch market at one of the dining tables, holding the leash belonging to JJ, a large, gentle standard poodle. JJ's owner, my friend Bertie, was inside the market getting something to eat. I had gone in first, ordered a taco salad and then we changed guard, me watching JJ so she could order.

As I was sitting there, a family with two little boys approached the market entrance, and the little boys were entranced with JJ. "Can I pet your dog?" said one.

Without thinking, I said, "Of course!"  Which is what I always do when I'm with my own dog, Jack. Jack is fine with children, he loves the attention and is gentle, without flinching or making sudden moves that might frighten then. My response was automatic.

Then in a sudden flash I realized - hey, this isn't my dog and I don't know how he is with children. He is a gentle and sweet dog, but I don't know that.

The little boy was still hesitant; and just as I was about to reverse my invitation and tell him we could wait for Bertie to return, his mom said, "Maybe we better not bother the lady."  Did she sense the sudden doubt in my mind? Was she a wise woman, or was she a person who was afraid of dogs anyway?

The family went into the market, and I went over the incident in my mind. Was I stupid, foolish to have instinctively vouched for a dog I didn't know well? How awful if I had encouraged him and then something bad had happened. I need to be more careful, more thinking.

When Bertie came out with her food, I told her about the incident. "How is JJ with children?" I asked.

"Oh, he's good with them. He loves being petted. He's a sweetheart." A little later, another family with a boy and a little girl came up to us, and Bertie let them pet JJ.

It made me feel like maybe my instincts are not so bad, after all.

Kids today!

Jack is exhausted from playing with my next door neighbor's Shar Pei puppy, Lucinda.

She gave him a real workout!

Shelter from the storm

It had been threatening to storm all day. We were sitting on the front porch late at night when she showed up.

A stray pug, no collar. Out late at night, alone.

Who is she?

There's a storm brewing. I want to shelter her. We are keeping her over night until we can find her owner.

UPDATE: This morning I went out with her on a leash, and there was a woman stapling flyers on the phone pole. As soon as she saw the dog, she let out a cry of joy.

The dog is named Tulip and she's our neighbor around the corner on Royal Street. But last night, she had a great pajama party with Jack and our house guest Noodles.

Going to the dogs

Today was the Krewe of Barkus parade in the French Quarter; a canine Mardi Gras. The elected King and Queen of the year are dogs, naturally.

Working my butt off!

Train grafitti. Click any image to "embiggen."

I have two final papers due - I have to submit the drafts on Monday, and then revise them over the Thanksgiving holiday.

So that's why I have been neglecting my blog. Hope you all don't mind. I've shared some photos of my neighborhood.

Single shotgun house with an incredible blooming senna shrub

Creole cottage on Dauphine Street

Beautiful old rose growing on a Bywater fence - Reve d'Or, maybe?

Jack, hanging out on the gallery outside of Vaughan's Lounge

Enjoy.

Camp Bow Wow

Today Jack had an interview at Camp Bow Wow.

It's a doggie day-care and boarding place, over in the Lower Garden District. Before they accept your dog for care, you have to leave him there for three hours to be observed by the staff while playing with other dogs.

We probably won't leave Jack for day care, unless extreme circumstances require, but we do want to be able to travel out of town. You have to get a reservation early for the holidays, so I wanted to find the right place now.

Jack's an old hand at boarding - he loved the Topanga Pet Resort so much he'd never give a backward glance each time I dropped him off. The staff there loved him so much that even if they had a waiting list for boarding, they'd still take him in.

The folks at Camp Bow Wow seemed to like Jack, too.  I was allowed to watch the first five minutes of his day on video cameras in the waiting area. The trainer returned, and said, "He's going to be fine! We'll see you later!" When I picked him up after my class, he had a personalized folder with a photo!

When I told some of my classmates I had to go pick up my dog, I learned that several of them had used Camp Bow Wow. At first I was a little embarrassed to say the name, so when someone asked where I had dropped him, I said, "It's a place down on Tchoupitoulas."

"Camp Bow Wow?" she asked. She knows the place well.

Even our professor has boarded his dogs at Camp Bow Wow.

I'm reminded again that New Orleans is a small town.

Those were the days

When you clean out your house, you discover many buried memories. This is me at Kalaloch Beach in Washington State, in 1987.

With [The Man I Love]

And my first dog, Trouper, who we could not keep out of the water, even in January!

Blue Dog

Yes, I know it looks like he's blue on his eyebrow. That's the light. The ink is only on his cheek and throat.

Jack has been a remarkably well-adjusted dog, for a rescue dog, but he does have his little ways.

Some dogs can be destructible when left alone, bored. Our first dog, Trooper, when left alone, chewed up the carved leg of an antique table, in a house we rented from a Cornell professor.

Jack's predecessor, Kotzie, once chewed up one of my very favorite shoes - this was the left member of a pair of Amalfi high heels that I treasured because they were the only high heels I've ever owned that I could wear for eight hours. I nearly wept when I found it, mangled and covered in drool.

But Jack is different. Jack doesn't chew up shoes or furniture. His fixation is exceedingly narrow. He consistently attacks only two items. Eyeglasses and pens.

He eats little plastic objects. The eyeglasses are usually drug-store cheaters, costing less than ten bucks. We arrive home to find lenses and mangled ear-pieces scattered on the living room rug. Twice, though, he's attacked [The Man I Love]'s prescription glasses - a couple hundred dollars damage.

The other object of his fixation is plastic pens. Yesterday when [The Man I Love] came home from work, the remains of a pen were scattered on the rug.

But this time Jack's guilt was obvious. It marked him with a stain.  He has a blue spot on his cheek, and another blotch under his jaw. His lily white paws are streaked blue, too.

He takes these objects from the low-slung coffee table in our living room, and you'd think this would teach us not to leave things there when we're out of the house. I guess it takes a lot of training to teach old dogs new tricks.

New buddy

One of Jack's best friends is my neighbor, Patty. Patty is a dog lover, and when we first got Jack and were worried whether he could endure being home alone while we worked, Patty stepped in to give him a daily walk, along with her dog, the elderly and venerable Mary Margaret.

After a bit, Mary Margaret was unable to keep up with Jack's energy, and since he was adapting well to life in our house, he no longer needed a daytime walk. But Jack and Patty had forged an enduring relationship.

Mary Margaret went to doggie heaven (where all good dogs go), and Patty embarked on many adventures, including some international travel. But finally, this month, Patty welcomed a new dog into her home.

Seamus.

Patty and I set up Jack and Seamus with a play date this weekend.

Seamus is a poodle, and quite a bit smaller than Jack. He is also a younger dog than Jack, with a lot of energy.

Still, they got along just fine. They played and wrestled. Jack kept mouthing Seamus, and since Seamus is small and hairy, within half an hour, Seamus was reduced to a white mophead soaked in dog saliva. But a happy wet mophead soaked in dog saliva.

After they calmed down a bit, Patty gave them both treats.

Seamus can stand on his hind legs. They're both good dogs.

Jack loves his new friend. And those treats.

In touch

The first time I saw Jack, he was curled up in a concrete kennel, his face close to the front chain-link, his chin tucked into his paws.

We took him out of the North Central Los Angeles Animal Shelter and brought him home to be part of our family.

He's managed to charm our friends and all the other dogs in the neighborhood with his playful yet non-aggressive attitude.

One of the things that's amazing about him is his connection to the physical world. He is a dog that delights in touch - the touch of a hand, a pat on the head.

When he is sleeping he often likes to brace a paw against a physical object - the wall, a chair leg.

He likes to be in touch.

A mystery

There's a strange mystery afoot in my neighborhood.

Almost everyone who lives in my neighborhood has a dog, and we've met most of our neighbors while dog-walking. No one likes dog-poop in their yard, so it's considered polite to pick up after your dog. Most people carry plastic bags for the job.

Committed dog owners live with multiple stashes of plastic bags. One tied to loop on the leash, one in the jacket pocket, a couple in the glove-box of the car....we all have them.

One neighbor gave out these clever dispensers of dog-poop bags as a Christmas gift this year. I notice that one civic-minded neighbor has hung one of these dispensers on her street-side fence, for the use of passers by.

It's not pleasant to pick up dog poop with your hand inside a plastic bag, but it's better than leaving it on your neighbor's property.

But lately I've been noticing this:

Someone is bagging the dog-poop, but leaving it on the street. I've seen this three times now.

The first time I saw this I was mystified - and I still am. Almost every house has street-side garbage bins, so if you pick up your dog's poop, you can easily find a convenient garbage bin to stow it in.

Sometimes your dog just chooses an inconvenient spot to do his business. I've had to walk several yards, holding a steaming, reeking knotted bag at arms length, but I always eventually find a bin.

Why would someone bag their dog's poop, and then leave it by the side of the road? Wouldn't it be better to just leave it to decompose, if you're not going to dispose of it?