Lord, it pains me to post this, but I fear that I must or I'll get swallowed up whole by my own jealousy if I ignore it, make fun of it or -as is my want- go to the interwebs to rail against it in such a manner that renders it utterly lifeless. I just can't do it. I'm not a jealous man by nature (or at least not anymore, there was a time though...) I want to see old and new friends alike do well in whatever their chosen field may be. Which is why I'm happy to say that one time member of the Smoke Hill Boys (which is what we called ourselves back in the day), Grant Lingel has successfully published a non-fiction novel titled Imagine: A Vagabond Story; which is for sale on line at many fine retailers including Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble and Borders.
Now, to be fair to you, my reader, I have not read a single, solitary line of this tome and I don't plan on it lest I receive it signed from the author with a personalized note that reads:
"To Jim, you were the best friend I've ever had or could ever hope for, thanks for not telling the internet that I used to be a woman - Love - Grant L."
All kidding aside, I'd love to spend some free time reading the words Grant has written, if only to see what he was up to during the years we have been out of touch. (And no, you twit, I didn't purposely ignore you that night at Lux; I was busy ignoring other people and you just happened to be part of that circle. My apologies.) I assume the pages will be filled with anecdotes of a witty nature, heralding stories of bravery and sun tan lotion, memories of sexual encounters with a strangely masculine Latina woman named Paz that showed Grant the true meaning of "amor" and the occasional travel tip like "always bring your own towel," or "never eat the free buffet on a Sunday." It will be at the very least a fun read I'm looking forward to devouring as soon as I receive my free, signed copy from the author himself.
Without actually reading the book I cannot (under penalty of law and the wraith of Stephen Fry) recommend this book to my readers, friends, family or personal trainer as I have no real basis for which to give it a review. However, I can say that Grant has always had a wonderful way with words and has one of the biggest, kindest hearts I've ever known. I'm sure it will be pleasing to your senses at the very least and, at the very most, it may move you in a profound way that you never thought possible.
Grant, buddy, congratulations. I am super, super proud of you for even completing an entire novel, let alone getting it published and sold in a store (!) and I couldn't be happier for you. I don't care if the guys get on me for being such a sap about things like this, because you deserve praise for the effort alone. Can't wait for my signed copy!
Monday, March 8, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
RIP: Daddy The Pit Bull
Reader, I promise there is a new, non dog related post coming up very shortly, but before then I'd like to take some time and pay tribute to Daddy The Pit Bull who passed away on February 19th, 2010.
Daddy: The World's Pit BullI don't check e-mail over the weekend and I barely even browse the internet (it helps me keep my sanity by "unplugging" myself from the interweaving series of tubes that I love so much), so when I woke up Monday morning and read that Daddy the Pit Bull (from Cesar Millan's National Geographic Channel show Dog Whisperer) had passed away on February 19th the news was more or less a shock. Not a life changing, mind altering type of shock that caused me to sob uncontrollably while reassessing my place in this world, but the sort of quiet, calm shock that could only be reasonably expressed with a deep sigh and a shake of the head. "That's terrible," I whispered to myself in a vain attempt not to wake up my girlfriend, but she heard me anyway and asked me what happened. "Daddy died," I said. "Ooh, I'm sorry, baby. That stinks," was her pitch-perfect response before she rolled over and caught a few more minutes of shut-eye. My dog, Vinnie, was lying at the love of my life's feet, somehow taking up more space in the bed than I did the night before. I looked over at him, he looked up at me and I slid over to where he as laying and gave him a big hug and said, "don't you do that to me until I'm ready, buddy." He snorted, laid back down and slept until it was time for him to go outside.
My first impression of Daddy was that of a dog who would "mess you up," and not of the calm-submissive, perfect four legged friend that was actually on display week in and week out. I didn't know the intricacies of "dog speak" as well as I do now, so it was impossible for me to see anything but a giant, lumbering, block headed Pit Bull that was preternaturally blessed with a perfect demeanor. Six seasons of devoted fandom and several books later, I know now that Daddy was much, much more than a dog. He was an ambassador for the canine kingdom, but especially for one of the most ill reputed dogs in the entire world. Obviously, I'm referring to Pit Bulls and their heinous portrayal as vicious, man-eaters. While the pictures of Pit Bulls engaged in dog fights are horrifying, as are the images of people who have come into contact with the rare, wild and aggressive Pit, that doesn't mean the entire breed should be condemned as "second class canine citizens."
Daddy, with his amazing personality and slow, confident swagger had the ability to light up any room he sauntered in to, and after a while, and once the show's popularity began to sky rocket, it seemed as if the owners who contacted Cesar Millan for help with their dogs really just wanted to see Daddy. I don't blame them at all. Daddy was a force unto himself and rightly deserved the fan base he's accumulated over the years, because it's rare to see any dog act so perfectly. But, from personal experience with several Pit Bulls in my neighborhood - all of which have owners that put in a lot of time and effort with their dogs to balance them properly - I know that the great majority of Pit Bulls have the same confident self-awareness and calm presence that Daddy put on display week in and week out as Cesar's right hand "man."
Daddy never so much as growled at a dog that showed signs of aggression towards him, instead he would remove himself from the instability and wander around happily until the unstable pooch he was tasked to help calmed down, got into the right mindset and was ready to be a dog again. Then Daddy would work his magic, and it was always breathtaking to see a dog that could so easily intimidate the average human act like a meek, lovable pussycat in their presence - even, more remarkably, if they were nervous- because Daddy never seemed to mind. He always seemed to be looking up with those big eyes as if to say, "hey, man it's fine, I get it, I'll be here when you need me," and he was always their when he was needed. Whether it was rearing his protege Junior into another benevolent ambassador, or helping Cesar show other dogs what it means to be perfectly balanced and happy; Daddy always showed up, did his job and made the entire world forget he happens to come from a breed of dogs that is constantly and unjustly vilified for being people-aggressive. Which was his ultimate job and one which he did splendidly.
I don't have it in me to be long winded and overly explanatory, but if you want to read a great treatise on the mistreatment of Pit Bulls you can head over to Gladwell.com and read the brilliant article "Troublemakers: What Pit Bulls Can Teach Us About Profiling," by my favorite non-fiction writer, Malcolm Gladwell. It really sums up -perfectly- my feelings about Pit Bulls and other dogs that have been incorrectly labeled as "people aggressive," so, there you go. You're welcome.
In closing, let me extend my heartfelt thanks to Daddy for showing all of us what it means to be a truly balanced dog, and my condolences to the Millan family. I know what they are going through must be very difficult since Daddy has been with them so long and lived so closely with them. You are all in my thoughts, and again, thank you Daddy and Cesar for being such positive role models and helping to change the world one dog at a time.
Daddy and his protege, Junior. Perfect as always.
So long, Daddy. You will be missed.
My first impression of Daddy was that of a dog who would "mess you up," and not of the calm-submissive, perfect four legged friend that was actually on display week in and week out. I didn't know the intricacies of "dog speak" as well as I do now, so it was impossible for me to see anything but a giant, lumbering, block headed Pit Bull that was preternaturally blessed with a perfect demeanor. Six seasons of devoted fandom and several books later, I know now that Daddy was much, much more than a dog. He was an ambassador for the canine kingdom, but especially for one of the most ill reputed dogs in the entire world. Obviously, I'm referring to Pit Bulls and their heinous portrayal as vicious, man-eaters. While the pictures of Pit Bulls engaged in dog fights are horrifying, as are the images of people who have come into contact with the rare, wild and aggressive Pit, that doesn't mean the entire breed should be condemned as "second class canine citizens."
Daddy, with his amazing personality and slow, confident swagger had the ability to light up any room he sauntered in to, and after a while, and once the show's popularity began to sky rocket, it seemed as if the owners who contacted Cesar Millan for help with their dogs really just wanted to see Daddy. I don't blame them at all. Daddy was a force unto himself and rightly deserved the fan base he's accumulated over the years, because it's rare to see any dog act so perfectly. But, from personal experience with several Pit Bulls in my neighborhood - all of which have owners that put in a lot of time and effort with their dogs to balance them properly - I know that the great majority of Pit Bulls have the same confident self-awareness and calm presence that Daddy put on display week in and week out as Cesar's right hand "man."
Daddy never so much as growled at a dog that showed signs of aggression towards him, instead he would remove himself from the instability and wander around happily until the unstable pooch he was tasked to help calmed down, got into the right mindset and was ready to be a dog again. Then Daddy would work his magic, and it was always breathtaking to see a dog that could so easily intimidate the average human act like a meek, lovable pussycat in their presence - even, more remarkably, if they were nervous- because Daddy never seemed to mind. He always seemed to be looking up with those big eyes as if to say, "hey, man it's fine, I get it, I'll be here when you need me," and he was always their when he was needed. Whether it was rearing his protege Junior into another benevolent ambassador, or helping Cesar show other dogs what it means to be perfectly balanced and happy; Daddy always showed up, did his job and made the entire world forget he happens to come from a breed of dogs that is constantly and unjustly vilified for being people-aggressive. Which was his ultimate job and one which he did splendidly.
I don't have it in me to be long winded and overly explanatory, but if you want to read a great treatise on the mistreatment of Pit Bulls you can head over to Gladwell.com and read the brilliant article "Troublemakers: What Pit Bulls Can Teach Us About Profiling," by my favorite non-fiction writer, Malcolm Gladwell. It really sums up -perfectly- my feelings about Pit Bulls and other dogs that have been incorrectly labeled as "people aggressive," so, there you go. You're welcome.
In closing, let me extend my heartfelt thanks to Daddy for showing all of us what it means to be a truly balanced dog, and my condolences to the Millan family. I know what they are going through must be very difficult since Daddy has been with them so long and lived so closely with them. You are all in my thoughts, and again, thank you Daddy and Cesar for being such positive role models and helping to change the world one dog at a time.
Daddy and his protege, Junior. Perfect as always.So long, Daddy. You will be missed.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Vinnie
If I seem a little dog crazy lately that's because I am. It's almost impossible not to be when you have a dog and you invest even the slightest amount of time and energy into fulfilling the relationship between you and your four-legged friend. Especially, since dogs live in the moment and the moment alone, when the reward is almost immediate and the accompanying sensation can often times be an overwhelming flood of pride and joy mixed together. While Vinnie, my girlfriend and I are on our daily walks together sometimes all it takes is a quick glance in his direction to see his smiling, determined face to know that she and I are doing everything we can to balance his existence and that he, in turn, has become much more than a pet to the both of us.
Aww...
Aww...I often wonder if I hadn't broken down and started watching The Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan that fateful, hungover day with my roommates if I ever would have started thinking about owning my own dog. I'd thought about it, sure, but that didn't mean I was ready to own a dog let alone care for it properly and help it lead a balanced life. And, up until a few years ago, the only dog I would've considered owning would have been an English Bull Dog that I would have named Maximus; I would've adorned him with a spiked collar, sunglasses and a ripped muscle t-shirt and the two of us would have spent our afternoons together drinking beer, watching television, napping, eating potato chips and sitting on the front porch telling stories about the good old days when men were men and dogs were allowed to run for public office. Those fantasies quickly faded away as the ideal of the "lazy, couch potato" bull dog was quickly dispelled by more than a few episodes of The Dog Whisperer that dealt with bull dogs that were in the "red zone" state of either obsession or aggression. It didn't scare me that these dogs would go ballistic at the sight of a skateboard, basketball or obese man trying to ride a tractor, but it did shake me awake to the fact that hundreds of years of breeding for "bully tendencies" would not go away because I made my dog wear an ironic t-shirt. I knew, deep down, that if I owned my English Bull Dog before I was absolutely ready to own one I would hurt him more than help him; even though they can be a lazy breed, and they can be the ideal couch potato dog, I didn't trust myself to engender those characteristics in a dog just then. So, as is per usual, I focused my attention on focusing my attention towards something else and not a particular breed of dog that happened to aesthetically please me. (All of this, is in big part to listening to and absorbing the things that Cesar Millan teaches us every week on the National Geographic Channel) I stopped focusing on things like appearance and reputation and started focusing on energy.I waited for years before I knew I was ready to own a dog, and because I shifted my thinking away from a specific type of dog, I was free to go out into the local shelters in search of any dog that matched my energy; which is how I came to own Vinnie.
The first day I saw Vinnie at Lollypop Farm ( a fantastic animal shelter based in Fairport, NY) I passed him by. Another dog - a Great Pyrenees named Winnie - caught the attention of myself and my girlfriend because she looked like a polar bear, was laid back and very friendly towards us and anyone else that stopped by her kennel. Vinnie, on the other hand, just laid there looking miserable and wouldn't even respond when I crouched down to introduce myself to him; he wouldn't even look up at us. The love of my life and I were in a rush to get to a family party, but thought we had time to do a meet and greet with Winnie to see if she might be a match for us; however, the shelter was incredibly busy and all the handlers were off doing other pre-adoption counseling so we ran out of time and had to leave. As we were driving to my sister's house for a birthday dinner I fully expected to arrive at the shelter the following day to adopt Winnie and take her home. Still, the image of Vinnie laying in his kennel, looking sad, sore and out of sorts stuck with me and I couldn't get over his immense, natural beauty. "I think that husky was the best looking dog I've ever seen," I casually remarked as we drove away from Lollypop Farm.
The next morning I showed up at the shelter without my girlfriend (this much has gotten me into so much hot water I won't even get into the details about it, needless to say, men of the world, never adopt or buy a dog without the express -possibly written- consent of your loved one, it only leads to arguments and tension between you, I, for one, learned my lesson very harshly and still feel bad for excluding my saint of girlfriend from the decision making process thinking a "surprise" would be the way to go; learn from my mistake, reader) and, without even looking at other dogs, went right to the adoption counter and asked if I could visit with Winnie. "She was adopted this morning, but there are a lot of other, great dogs available that you can take home today," the very nice lady whose name I can remember informed me. I shrugged my shoulders, said "thank you," and went about walking aimlessly through the glass enclosed viewing/kennel areas of the shelter. I was not, in any way shape or form, ready for what happened when I made my way into the area where they were keeping Vinnie.
He was still there, in the same, miserable position I had left him in the day before and I wondered whether or not anyone had walked him recently. As I approached his kennel I said nothing and moved confidently without feeling bad for his plight and crouched down next to him without reaching out to pet him. I stayed like that for a few minutes, patiently waiting for him to react to me being in his space. The other dogs in his area were gradually quieting down - before they were going crazy, barking and yapping and jumping up against their kennels - and I made sure to wait until each dog in the room was, if not calm, than actively submitting to my presence (just like Cesar would do, I thought). Sure enough as soon as the room was ready and waiting, Vinnie picked his head up and looked at me. I looked at him. He stood up, wagged his tail and licked my hand in a very calm but alert way, and then he walked over to his water bowl to get a drink before coming back over to me for a little more attention. We spent a good five minutes there silently communicating back and forth before I stood up and went to the adoption desk to sign up for a meeting with what would be my future dog.
The second Vinnie entered the meeting room he was a totally different dog. I made sure to practice "no touch, no talk, no eye contact" while Vinnie sniffed out the room and, eventually, made his way over to me to say hello. He was limping around because he had spent so much time lying on his right hip that it had gotten sore, but I didn't let this bother me, and I knew if he walked it out a little more he would be fine. Sure enough, in a minute or two the limp was gone and Vinnie was sitting between myself and the two ladies who served as my adoption advisers waiting to see what would happen next. "He has a bit of a history," one lady told me wryly, "and he's scheduled to be put down this afternoon," she continued and at this point I perked up and said, "what do you mean?" She went on to explain that he and his old pack member - a 4 year old St. Bernard - were playing with a 3 week old Labrador puppy that one of the neighbors had brought over; which was a mistake. [*ATTENTION FUTURE DOG OWNERS - you should never, ever, ever buy a dog from a breeder that is willing to give it to you before it is, at a minimum, 8 weeks old. It's incredibly important for, among other things, their social and physical development! Puppies don't even open their eyes until they are about 2 weeks old, and any respectable breeder would never let her puppies go until they are, at least, 2 months old!* ] Anyway, the playing got out of hand between the two much larger dogs and the innocent little puppy, and without getting into the gory details, the St. Bernard accidentally killed the Lab while they were wrestling. Vinnie, in no way a completely innocent bystander in the whole situation mind you, was carted off with the St. Bernard as the aforementioned neighbors threatened legal action if the dogs weren't "taken care of." I stared directly at the shelter volunteers who were visibly tense around Vinnie and said, "eh, that's not a problem, but where's the St. Bernard?" I wasn't planning on adopting both, but I wanted to know how Vinnie's old pack member was doing, hoping I could get a read on his energy as well, the volunteers looked at me and said "he's getting prepped as we speak." Moments later, before I would walk Vinnie for the first time around Lollypop Farm's outdoor play area, I saw this poor, lumbering, beautiful dog walking the green mile to oblivion and my heart sank.
Here's the thing, future dog owners and pack leaders, you absolutely cannot let something like that sway your decision making process when you are about to adopt a dog. Whether they are brand new to the shelter or hours away from certain death should not alter your path at all. So, as hard as it was for me to block that image from my mind, I did my best to focus on the present while ignoring the emotions that were bubbling up inside me. I took a deep breath, cleared my head, attached the leash to Vinnie's collar and away we went, walking side by side for what would be the first of many, many times. It was an instant connection unlike anything I've ever felt with a dog before. Vinnie stayed on my side, rarely pulled and reacted when I corrected him, but he wasn't all sugar and spice and everything nice. He is, after all, a working dog with a tremendous amount of energy; which became obvious moments later when the leash was off and we started to play. I'd never seen a dog run like he ran and it was a gorgeous, edifying moment in my life, because as soon as I saw him running I knew he was my dog. It's one of those things that can't be explained, and I'm sure Cesar would agree that he felt an almost instant connection with both Daddy and Junior, but even the almighty Dog Whisperer can't account for the mystical moment when you know a dog is yours. It just happens and it's astounding the effect it has on a person mentally and physically. You just feel everything change around you. It really is magic.
Two hours later we were home together. I walked Vinnie around the neighborhood to get him used to the scents and sounds and after wards I went out to work in the backyard and Vinnie kept me company. My girlfriend got home, we argued and fought and I felt like a jerk for a while after, but eventually she came to love Vinnie as much, if not more than, I do. Now, almost a year and a half later the three of us are a very functional pack and I couldn't imagine living without him. Dogs are like that. You never really know what life is like until you try to live it with a dog. They have this uncanny ability to reflect your spirit. If I am in a bad mood, Vinnie is unruly. If I am frustrated, Vinnie is a jerk. If I am rushing around the house, late for work, Vinnie goes bananas and, usually, will knock down the gate blocking him from the kitchen the second we leave the house. However, flip that all around and the opposite is true. If I'm in a good mood, Vinnie is happy. If I am confident, calm and content, Vinnie is the same. If I take my time getting ready for work and go about my routine without rushing, Vinnie remains calm and usually sleeps until it's time to let him out for his morning bathroom break. It's truly remarkable that in order for me to be self aware all I need to do is look at my dog and see what emotional state is being reflected back at me. This has helped me immeasurably in my day to day life as it's allowed me to be much, much more in touch with what's going on inside my head.
This reflection tells me it's either time for a nap, or there is a piece of bacon on the window sill he doesn't want me to notice.
The first day I saw Vinnie at Lollypop Farm ( a fantastic animal shelter based in Fairport, NY) I passed him by. Another dog - a Great Pyrenees named Winnie - caught the attention of myself and my girlfriend because she looked like a polar bear, was laid back and very friendly towards us and anyone else that stopped by her kennel. Vinnie, on the other hand, just laid there looking miserable and wouldn't even respond when I crouched down to introduce myself to him; he wouldn't even look up at us. The love of my life and I were in a rush to get to a family party, but thought we had time to do a meet and greet with Winnie to see if she might be a match for us; however, the shelter was incredibly busy and all the handlers were off doing other pre-adoption counseling so we ran out of time and had to leave. As we were driving to my sister's house for a birthday dinner I fully expected to arrive at the shelter the following day to adopt Winnie and take her home. Still, the image of Vinnie laying in his kennel, looking sad, sore and out of sorts stuck with me and I couldn't get over his immense, natural beauty. "I think that husky was the best looking dog I've ever seen," I casually remarked as we drove away from Lollypop Farm.
The next morning I showed up at the shelter without my girlfriend (this much has gotten me into so much hot water I won't even get into the details about it, needless to say, men of the world, never adopt or buy a dog without the express -possibly written- consent of your loved one, it only leads to arguments and tension between you, I, for one, learned my lesson very harshly and still feel bad for excluding my saint of girlfriend from the decision making process thinking a "surprise" would be the way to go; learn from my mistake, reader) and, without even looking at other dogs, went right to the adoption counter and asked if I could visit with Winnie. "She was adopted this morning, but there are a lot of other, great dogs available that you can take home today," the very nice lady whose name I can remember informed me. I shrugged my shoulders, said "thank you," and went about walking aimlessly through the glass enclosed viewing/kennel areas of the shelter. I was not, in any way shape or form, ready for what happened when I made my way into the area where they were keeping Vinnie.
He was still there, in the same, miserable position I had left him in the day before and I wondered whether or not anyone had walked him recently. As I approached his kennel I said nothing and moved confidently without feeling bad for his plight and crouched down next to him without reaching out to pet him. I stayed like that for a few minutes, patiently waiting for him to react to me being in his space. The other dogs in his area were gradually quieting down - before they were going crazy, barking and yapping and jumping up against their kennels - and I made sure to wait until each dog in the room was, if not calm, than actively submitting to my presence (just like Cesar would do, I thought). Sure enough as soon as the room was ready and waiting, Vinnie picked his head up and looked at me. I looked at him. He stood up, wagged his tail and licked my hand in a very calm but alert way, and then he walked over to his water bowl to get a drink before coming back over to me for a little more attention. We spent a good five minutes there silently communicating back and forth before I stood up and went to the adoption desk to sign up for a meeting with what would be my future dog.
The second Vinnie entered the meeting room he was a totally different dog. I made sure to practice "no touch, no talk, no eye contact" while Vinnie sniffed out the room and, eventually, made his way over to me to say hello. He was limping around because he had spent so much time lying on his right hip that it had gotten sore, but I didn't let this bother me, and I knew if he walked it out a little more he would be fine. Sure enough, in a minute or two the limp was gone and Vinnie was sitting between myself and the two ladies who served as my adoption advisers waiting to see what would happen next. "He has a bit of a history," one lady told me wryly, "and he's scheduled to be put down this afternoon," she continued and at this point I perked up and said, "what do you mean?" She went on to explain that he and his old pack member - a 4 year old St. Bernard - were playing with a 3 week old Labrador puppy that one of the neighbors had brought over; which was a mistake. [*ATTENTION FUTURE DOG OWNERS - you should never, ever, ever buy a dog from a breeder that is willing to give it to you before it is, at a minimum, 8 weeks old. It's incredibly important for, among other things, their social and physical development! Puppies don't even open their eyes until they are about 2 weeks old, and any respectable breeder would never let her puppies go until they are, at least, 2 months old!* ] Anyway, the playing got out of hand between the two much larger dogs and the innocent little puppy, and without getting into the gory details, the St. Bernard accidentally killed the Lab while they were wrestling. Vinnie, in no way a completely innocent bystander in the whole situation mind you, was carted off with the St. Bernard as the aforementioned neighbors threatened legal action if the dogs weren't "taken care of." I stared directly at the shelter volunteers who were visibly tense around Vinnie and said, "eh, that's not a problem, but where's the St. Bernard?" I wasn't planning on adopting both, but I wanted to know how Vinnie's old pack member was doing, hoping I could get a read on his energy as well, the volunteers looked at me and said "he's getting prepped as we speak." Moments later, before I would walk Vinnie for the first time around Lollypop Farm's outdoor play area, I saw this poor, lumbering, beautiful dog walking the green mile to oblivion and my heart sank.
Here's the thing, future dog owners and pack leaders, you absolutely cannot let something like that sway your decision making process when you are about to adopt a dog. Whether they are brand new to the shelter or hours away from certain death should not alter your path at all. So, as hard as it was for me to block that image from my mind, I did my best to focus on the present while ignoring the emotions that were bubbling up inside me. I took a deep breath, cleared my head, attached the leash to Vinnie's collar and away we went, walking side by side for what would be the first of many, many times. It was an instant connection unlike anything I've ever felt with a dog before. Vinnie stayed on my side, rarely pulled and reacted when I corrected him, but he wasn't all sugar and spice and everything nice. He is, after all, a working dog with a tremendous amount of energy; which became obvious moments later when the leash was off and we started to play. I'd never seen a dog run like he ran and it was a gorgeous, edifying moment in my life, because as soon as I saw him running I knew he was my dog. It's one of those things that can't be explained, and I'm sure Cesar would agree that he felt an almost instant connection with both Daddy and Junior, but even the almighty Dog Whisperer can't account for the mystical moment when you know a dog is yours. It just happens and it's astounding the effect it has on a person mentally and physically. You just feel everything change around you. It really is magic.
Two hours later we were home together. I walked Vinnie around the neighborhood to get him used to the scents and sounds and after wards I went out to work in the backyard and Vinnie kept me company. My girlfriend got home, we argued and fought and I felt like a jerk for a while after, but eventually she came to love Vinnie as much, if not more than, I do. Now, almost a year and a half later the three of us are a very functional pack and I couldn't imagine living without him. Dogs are like that. You never really know what life is like until you try to live it with a dog. They have this uncanny ability to reflect your spirit. If I am in a bad mood, Vinnie is unruly. If I am frustrated, Vinnie is a jerk. If I am rushing around the house, late for work, Vinnie goes bananas and, usually, will knock down the gate blocking him from the kitchen the second we leave the house. However, flip that all around and the opposite is true. If I'm in a good mood, Vinnie is happy. If I am confident, calm and content, Vinnie is the same. If I take my time getting ready for work and go about my routine without rushing, Vinnie remains calm and usually sleeps until it's time to let him out for his morning bathroom break. It's truly remarkable that in order for me to be self aware all I need to do is look at my dog and see what emotional state is being reflected back at me. This has helped me immeasurably in my day to day life as it's allowed me to be much, much more in touch with what's going on inside my head.
This reflection tells me it's either time for a nap, or there is a piece of bacon on the window sill he doesn't want me to notice.In closing: dogs are damn near perfect and can change your life for the better or for the worse depending on what you are willing to do to make sure they live a happy, healthy and balanced life. If you're wondering whether or not you're doing right by your furry best friend, all you have to do is pay attention to what he/she is telling you. Dogs are always communicating with us - even though we may not know it - and they pick up on everything we do, especially the energy and emotions were are projecting, so, if you're lucky enough to have a happy, healthy and balanced dog, the chances are you are a happy, healthy and balanced human! It's pretty much that simple, and so is your dog.
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