What happens when you try to comfort your neighbor's cat when they've been on vacation for two weeks. That is one pissed off cat.
My neighbors gifted their daughter who graduated this year with a two week trip to Italy and Greece.
They are scheduled to return tomorrow (I hope).
They asked me to check in on their cat. He's a spicy, overweight, neutered male cat. He doesn't like me.
One angry cat - right before The Clawing. He'll never get another chance to take a swipe at me.....ever
Of course you're probably asking "How is that possible? You LOVE cats?" Well, I don't have an answer for that except to say perhaps he's spoiled. His favorite people are her other daughter and the lady of the house. Both very nice. The husband has a golden retriever. I've watched their pets before. Their previous dog was never a problem. You know golden retrievers, they like everybody. This cat, yes he gave me a huge scratch on my right arm once before when I attempted to pet him. One would think I learned my lesson. Oh no, not me.
I know he misses his mama and the daughter. This is the last day of their trip. I tried to comfort him but he wasn't having it. Right as I extended my right hand to pat him on his head, he gave me a major swat, resulting in FIVE claw punctuations on my right hand. And me, being right handed, I need that right hand. Especially when I'm cleaning the algae muck out of my fish pond filter every other day. In addition to using my right hand here to type and wash dishes and garden and etc, etc. Not to mention those claw indentations in my hand HURT.
I think I have learned my lesson. Oh sure, when they vacation again I'll agree to check in on The Cat to make sure he has enough water but no more Mr. Nice Guy. I keep my distance from now on. I need my right hand. And no amount of trying to comfort this feline, who doesn't appreciate it anyway, is worth taking the risk of getting clawed again. Funny thing this, in all my eight-four years I've never been clawed like this by any cat. Just another reason why I'll never have another pet in my lifetime. And Bill was right, when I wanted to get a cat when we lived in Philly, he was totally against it. He said if you want to get a pet, get a Pomeranian dog. They're small like cats but much more human friendly. He was right.
Now how am I going to handle that fresh corn on the cob tonight with my compromised right hand?
With all the conflict that is going on around us today, I offer this moment of Zen. This is a short video I took a few minutes ago of my homemade fish pond with my rescue feeder goldfish. They are thriving!
Whenever, I want to get away from all the noise and confusion of the world, I walk out to my back yard at at the far end on the right is my fish pond which I stocked with feeder goldfish last year from a local pet store. At the time I purchased them they were ten cents apiece, three for twenty-five cents. Of course they were much smaller than they are now. And they're even breeding! See the smaller goldfish? They were born in this pond.
I would love to have a pet again. A cat, or a dog but at this time of my life that just isn't practical. The number one reason is that both Bill and I are prone to falling. Having a dog or cat weaving between our feet when we walk is just asking for a visit to the Emergency Room. That's why I had to so reluctantly give up "Fiona", that little calico kitten I adored six months ago. I'm hoping she has a nice home now where she can live out a long life will all the love of her new human family.
My goldfish in my backyard pond are my pets now. I even have a frog back there which I knew would happen. You build a pond, the frogs will show up! The same thing happened when I built my ponds at our home in Pennsylvania.
So now, even if I have a medical event and end up in the hospital for a stay, the goldfish can fend for themselves. In the meantime, I visit my "pets" several times daily in my backyard. They are my "therapy."
This Christmas I remember again the best pet I ever had, Horace the Pomeranian.
I "adopted" him from a pet store window on impulse on my way to lunch one summer day in 1982.
It was quite a surprise to Bill when he picked me up at the train station at the end of the day like he always did when I commuted from Downingtown to my bank job in center city Philadelphia. I told him "I have something in the box."
The next sixteen years were pure bliss. I had a dog who actually choose me as his daddy.
Adult Horace 1986
I never heard this wonderful, delightful orange fur ball growl or show any form of aggression. I never, never had to discipline him once for anything. He was literally my Angel on Earth.
Horace died in 1998, after having blessed my life for sixteen years.
Old Horace 1998
Maybe someday Horace I will see you again if there is a Heaven.
With all the bad news in the world, I decided today was the day I was only going to post about good news.
The picture above was taken about an hour ago at my neighbor's house. The puppy is "Cleo", an Australian sheep dog poodle mix. "Cleo" is short for Cleopatra.
My neighbors daughter brought Cleo for her father last week. By neighbor, whose name is Bob, had just lost his Yorkie a couple of weeks ago. Last year he lost his wife, brother and son. Just two weeks ago he lost his good friend and another neighbor. Bob is the best neighbor I've ever had. All the years that I've been on my own, he is the best neighbor ever! And ironically he's a Tumper although he doesn't try and convert me (nor do I try and convert him to my "radical leftist socialist" views. We look out for one another. Bob and Bill used to be best friends before Bill's strokes and onset of early dementia.
Bob goes fishing frequently. I've always walked his dog when Bob is out all day fishing. This morning I went over for instructions how to handle his new puppy. She is a lovey.
I would love to get another dog, preferable a Pomeranian puppy like my beloved Horace of many years ago. I had him for sixteen long years. I'm afraid if I get another dog he will outlive me. I can't get any kind of pet now as long as I'm taking care of Bill but should I survive Bill, I am seriously considering getting a pet. Haven't totally decided on a cat or a dog. But like Bob, I don't want to live alone. When I come home I want that happy greeting and unconditional love that only a pet provides.
Bill P. (far left) digging in at the Girard Bank Trust Operations Department Christmas buffet 1979
This morning I had a Zoom call with an old friend from my Girard Bank days. His name is also Bill and he was also my boss. The picture above is at one of our bank's annual Christmas parties. Everyone brought something in to eat and share with fellow Trust Operations employees.
I departed Girard Bank a few years after Mellon Bank took over in 1982. I took this picture I think in 1979. Yes, I was taking pictures even back then. I've always been that annoying person who drags out his camera and takes photos. Be thankful, imagine how many pictures I would have if I had an iPhone back then in those prehistoric digital days.
My former boss Bill also departed Girard Bank (of Philadelphia) after Mellon Bank (of Pittsburgh) also departed the Philadelphia office and moved to Pittsburgh after Mellon completed its swallow of Girard Bank.
Over the years I've kept in touch with Bill by phone. But with the advent of Zoom I was able to convince him to try Zoom, even though he frequently reminded me he wasn't "technological proficient." In my opinion he doesn't give himself enough credit. Coincidently his e-mail address also has the name "Zoom" in it although that was pre Zoom call era.
In this COVID era I stay in touch with old friends, relatives and former co-workers via FaceTime and Zoom. I am so thankful I can do this. I'm old enough to remember the main way we stayed in touch was by handwritten letters or expensive long distance phone calls. I hear now days they don't even teach cursive writing in elementary school.
We had a little trouble connecting this morning, couldn't get Bill's image, but eventually he came through and he had a surprise for me. He got a new puppy!
Bill P. with his new puppy, "Brooke". She's ten weeks old. Looks like a lot of love here.
Bill's favorite breed of dog are Shetland collies. He and his wife Marie had two of them. One died a few years ago and the other is fourteen years old now. Bill and his wife were reluctant to get a new dog because of their age, their dog will likely outlive them. This is a thought I've had. If my Bill passes before I do I want to get a companion to keep me company and focused here in an empty house of love. I've been considering cats (I love cats) but reluctant because I know cats like to climb and I just have too many things to get knocked over not to mention all my functions keys on my keyboard, a problem my friend Lar has with his cats.
Bill told me his unique solution to bringing into his family a puppy who will likely outlive him and his wife. He has an agreement with the breeder should he and his wife die before their new puppy, the dog goes back to the breeder. Now that solves a problem for me. My preferred breed of dog is a Pomeranian. The best friend I ever had in my life was "Horace." A Pomeranian that I brought on a whim after seeing him frolicking in a pet store window on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia on my way to lunch. I had no intentions of buying a dog (puppy) that day but I was intrigued and walking into the pet store. The owner brought this little stinky orange fluff ball out to me to hold and that was the end of that story. I bought him on the spot and took him back to work with me then surprised my Bill when he picked me up at the train station at the end of the day. Horace lived a long sixteen years. In the photo he is on the far right. The middle is "T" another Pom we purchased and their puppy "Babydoll." Horace died in 1998 and we haven't had a pet since. Now, knowing that I can have an agreement that if I get a puppy, he (or she) would have a home long after I'm gone. Of course I won't get any pet while my Bill is still here. But getting a pet will be a way for me to cope with life should my Bill die before me.
Bill P and me on Zoom this morning during a point of hilarity. Life goes on. I am so thankful for Zoom. We couldn't have these moments with the old land line phones.
These days I think a lot about my previous seventy-nine years of life. I have so many good memories, some bad, some scary but mostly good.
The picture below is one of the rare ones with me and Bill P. during our days at Girard Bank in the 70's. Bill was the vice president of the Trust Operations department. I was one of his managers along with Joe M., another manager in the photo.
First, I have to apologize for leaving that picture of Jason from "Halloween" on my blog post for several days after Halloween. What an awful thing to do to my faithful blog followers. I'm not ready for a new posting yet (too much going on recently) but I did come across this valuable information about how we treat our pets on a Facebook post today.
I've had at least a dozen pets put to sleep during my lifetime. In my family, I was the designated family member to take the family pet to the vet to have him or her put to sleep. No one else could bear such a sad task. It was sad for me too but I realized that putting a pet out of their pain and suffering was best for the pet and their family.
It wasn't until recently that I realized that I should be holding my pet when they're put to sleep. I was holding my Horace (my Pomeranian best friend) when he was put to sleep. He was peaceful. I wish I could go back in time and hold those other pets rather than just turn them over to the vet. I will always feel guilty about not holding those pets in my arms when the vet injected them with a fatal solution in their from paw.
I've expressed my wish many times that when my time comes, I want someone with me holding my hand when I slip out of this life. Would that I would be that lucky to have someone with me at the end of my life. Unfortunately, we as humans cannot chose our time and place of our passing other than suicide. But be it known here and know, if I should be so fortunate as to slowly fade away from this earthly existence I want a person who cares about me helping me to pass. Just holding my hand as I enter my Eternal Rest.
Below is the posting about being with your pet at their end of their life.
Pets, it turns out, also have last wishes before they die, but only known by veterinarians who put old and sick animals to sleep. Twitter user Jesse Dietrich asked a vet what was the most difficult part of his job. The specialist answered without hesitation that it was the hardest for him to see how old or sick animals look for their owners with the eyes of their owners before going to sleep. The fact is that 90 % of owners don't want to be in a room with a dying animal. People leave so they don't see their pet leave. But they don't realize that it's in these last moments of life that their pet really needs them. And Hillcrest Veterinary Clinic in South Africa has posted on their Facebook page for all people with pets. Veterinarians ask the owners to be close to the animals until the very end. ′′ It's inevitable that they die before you. Don't forget that you were the center of their life. Maybe they were just a part of you. But they are also your family. No matter how hard it is, don't leave them. Dont let them die in a room with a stranger in a place they dont like. Vets are very painful to watch this. On how pets cannot find their owner in the last minutes of their life. They dont understand why he left them. After all, they needed his consolation. Veterinarians do everything possible to ensure that animals are not so scared. But they are completely strangers to them. Don't be a coward who thinks it's too painful for you. Think about the pet. Endure this pain for the sake of your pets. Be with them until the end ".
A couple of years ago while Pat and I were visiting West Hollywood California, we walked by this window of dogs. This scene reminded me of the Fifties Hit Parade song "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?" Remember back to those innocent times of the Fifties? I used to think I was living in such a boring time. Hey, guess what? I would love to have those "boring" times back again, albeit with all my digital devices. I found this video while organized my 92,260 photos and videos on my iMac. Can you believe I have these many images on my computer? Can you imagine how many I would have if I was taking photos and videos since the Fifties?
While perusing my photos this morning I came across the banner photo I took of my late friend Dick Thomas's feral cats.
Dick Thomas and Ron Tipton - 1986 (30 years ago!)
I took this photo about thirty years ago at my friend Dick Thomas's country home in Pennsylvania. Dick hired me at Girard Bank in 1965. I didn't know him before he hired me. We became friends during my twenty-one year employment at Girard. Dick lived in the city but had a "country place" in Chester Country near several big farms.
He used to feed feral cats that gathered at his place. This was a picture I took of some of those feral cats. Dick died some years ago, I wonder what ever became of those thirty or so feral cats.
Dick's feral cats waiting for their meal
I love cats. Bill doesn't. That's why we don't have cats. I had a cat once when I was a teenager. I've written about him before. He was a gray tabby cat that took up with our family when we lived next to a manufacturing plant.
"Bobby" - my first pet - 1954
I loved that cat. He was my first pet. I named him "Bobby" after an upperclassman I had a crush on at that time of my life. I had Bobby for a few years. One day I came home from school and no Bobby. I asked my Mother "Did you see Bobby?" She said "Oh, Pop (which is what we all called my father) took him to the SPCA because he was marking the front door."
So that was the explanation for what happened to my loved pet. My father took him to the SPCA. No "Father Knows Best Moment" where he sits down and consults with me. No maybe betting Bobby fixed so he wouldn't mark the front door. Just take him to the SPCA where he was probably put down. Regular readers of my blog know that I've written about this episode in previous posts but you know me, when I start writing my blog I just go with the flow and this hurtful episode just burbled up again. So of course I always wanted to get a cat again.When I moved in with Bill I suggested that we get a cat for a pet. Guess what? Bill hates cats. He told me when he was a kid he used to tie tin cans to cats' tails for "fun." Oh yes, that was Bill when he was a kid. I pushed for a cat but Bill was adamantly against it. He suggested a compromise. He said "Let's get a Pomeranian dog. They're about the same size as cats. So that's what we got.
Me posing for a Christmas card photo with our three Poms - 1986
Guess what? I LOVED those dogs! We had a total of five Pomeranians. Two when we lived in center city Philadelphia. Then three more when we moved out of Philly and moved to the country.
My "fan" club
However, at this time of our life we have no pets. Bill doesn't even want to have Poms. He can't take the loss any more. So here is my dilemma. If I outlive Bill, I plan to get a pet or pets. What to get? Cats or dogs? Any suggestions?
Me with Babydoll and Horace (the father of Babydoll) - 1989
Me and Horace going for a ride - he loved to go for rides with me - 1998
Most dreams I forget. However, this morning I didn't forget this dream. I dreamt I was in a hospital. Not as a patient but in the midst of walking the busy corridors of the hospital, with staff rushing to and fro. I don't know what I was doing in the hospital. I wasn't a patient. I wasn't visiting anyone. But I was in the midst of all that cacophony. Then around the corner of that busy hospital corridor I see my late Pomeranian dog Horace. Then I see two other orange Pomeranians following him. They looked lost. Horace when right by my. I shouted "Hey Horace!" He turned around and ran to me and jumped into my arms. I recognized one of the other orange Poms as his daughter. However, I didn't recognize the third Pom. We had three Poms but the third one was a blonde. Horace was the only dog I had that chose me. I purchased him from a pet shop in 1982. He died in 1998, at age 16 years. I have never gotten over this death. I haven't got a pet dog since because both Bill and I don't want to go through that pain again.
The only time I really cried in my life over the death of a living thing was when Horace died. I had him put to sleep after he had a stroke and was totally limp. I didn't cry when I was holding him as the vet injected him with a fatal solution. However, the next day, while at work I got to thinking of what my life would be like without Horace and I started to cry. A heart wrenching cry like I never had before. I was so embarrassed that I went into the bathroom and cried. I didn't want my co-workers to see me crying. I felt desperate. I could get another dog but I could never get another "Horace." That dog loved me and I loved him. I felt ashamed to feel this way about a dog. I have never felt this way about any human being. I have felt sad when those close to me have died. From my parents and friends and former co-workers but never the total sadness and feeling of loss that I felt when I realized that Horace would no longer be in my life. After about ten minutes I was able to pull myself together and get back to work. However, I still felt this tremendous sense of loss that I would never be able to recover. Then, the more I thought about how to get through this pain, I came upon a solution. I convinced myself that when I die, my pain would end. If there is an afterlife, then I would be with my Horace again. If there is no afterlife, then I would know nothing, including the pain of his loss. Either way I felt some comfort knowing that eventually the pain of the loss and loneliness that I now felt would end. However, every now and then I have these dreams. It's almost like Horace is telling me that he is waiting for me.
Sixteen years ago this month (September), the only dog I ever had that "chose" me, died. His name was Horace.
I didn't plan to get Horace. I found him quite by accident. In 1982 I worked in center city Philadelphia at Girard Bank. I used to walk down Chestnut Street almost every day to go to lunch at the Colannade Cafeteria at Sixth and Market. During my walk I would go by a pet store, with a large window in front. Behind that window were frolicking puppies. This one day I saw a little orange fur ball trying to keep up with the other larger puppies. I saw that he was a Pom (Pomeranian) and was immediately attracted. Bill and I already had two older Pomeranians at our home in Downingtown. We both love Pomeranians. Against my better judgement I walked in the store, curious as to how much "that puppy in the window" cost. The owner immediately went to the window and plucked the orange puff ball out of the window, took him aside and sprayed him (with deodorant I later found out because this orange ball STUNK) and placed him in my waiting arms. BIG MISTAKE. I left that store with that orange puff ball in a box and went to lunch. After lunch I returned to my job as an operations manager in the trust department. I had to keep putting my hand in the box to keep my little puppy from whimpering. Later I found out I was bonding with him by this action. At the end of the day I caught my commuter train back to Downingtown, hand still in the cardboard box where my new buddy was temporarily residing. The train conductor came by and saw the box. He said "You know we don't allow pets on the train?" I said "Yes." What was I supposed to do? Walk home? Then he smiled and walked away. I got of the train in Downingtown. Bill was waiting for me as he did every day. I got in the Jeep and put my "package" the back. He said "What did you buy today?" This was back in my shopaholic days. Bill knew me well. After a slight hesitation, I decided to just put it out there. I said "A dog." He said:
WHAT?! He said "You're kidding!" I said "No, I bought a dog. You'll like him." He said "Take it back!" I said "No." Long story short, when we got home I took the new puppy out and put him in Bill's arms and the rest is history.
Bill and Baby Horace - love at first sight - 1982
Horace lived with us sixteen long years. He died in September 1998.
Horace, my faithful buddy for 16 long years - 1996
Horace outlived his "wife", "T", who we got the next year and his their puppy "Babydoll" who was born a ten months later. "T" lived fourteen years and "Babydoll" lived eleven years.
Horace and "T", aka as "Mom" and "The Boss" around our house - 1983
"T" and Horace go for a stroll on our idyllic acres in Pennsylvania - those were the days
I've always wanted to get another Pomeranian but Bill is adamantly against ever getting another dog. He can't take the loss. Plus, at our age the dog will probably outlive us. But I saw this video this morning and I fell in love all over again. I'm thinking about it.
Back in 1982 I bought a tiny orange Pomeranian puppy for $300 at a Philadelphia pet store on my way to lunch. I had not planned to buy this puppy but as I was walking by the pet store, I saw HIM in the window display trying to keep up with the other BIG puppies. I stopped in, curious as to how much he cost. That was my first mistake. The pet shop employee said "You want to hold him?" Of course I said "Yes" and the rest was history. I purchased him that day, brought him back in a pet box to the bank where I worked. When I got home I had a surprise for Bill. He wasn't too happy but he too soon fell in love with Horace.
Bill with Horace a few minutes after Horace arrived at his new home all bright eyed and bushy tailed
Horace was with me for sixteen years, four years longer than most Pomeranians live on this earth.
Me and my buddy Horace - many years later - two graybeards
Horace was the only dog I had in my life who "chose me." You know what I mean by that don't you? Dogs always choose one main person. Horace chose me.
My Mom and Horace and me - Horace wants a kiss
Horace would wait for me everyday to come home from work, my long commute on the train from Philadelphia to Downingtown. He would lie on my house clothes and sleep during the day, patiently waiting for me. Horace was my best friend. Horace was the best friend I've ever had. Horace never disappointed me, even when he was old and could no longer hold his bodily functions.
Horace loved to go for rides with me
To the end of my days I will never have as good a friend as this little, orange Pomeranian named Horace who never growled in anger once in his short life. Horace was always glad to see me. He never was angry with me. He never scolded me. He never shouted or cursed at me. He never asked me for anything but my love. When Horace died in 1998, Bill said he didn't want any more dogs. He couldn't take the loss. I have honored Bill's wish. But if I survive Bill, I will try to get another Horace. I don't think I could bear to live the rest of my life without that unconditional love that only a pet, specifically a dog can provide. I don't think it is a coincidence that "dog" spelled backwards spells God.
September 1985 - me, Baby Doll, T and Horace - posing for our annual Christmas card photo
As regular readers of this blog know, I am fond of posting old family photos. By old, I mean the 40's and 50's. I think I have just about exhausted posting those photos so now I have moved up to my next surge of photo taking, which occurred in the 80's, when I was in my 40's. Poet and don't know it. Here are some photos that I took (which can now be considered family photos since they are almost 40 years old) during one of my annual photo shoots with our dogs. Back in the early 80's, when I first acquired Horace, my male Pomeranian dog, I had a Christmas card photo produced to share with friends and family. That Christmas card was so popular that I began to take annual Christmas card photo shoots even though it cost me over $1,000 each time. Back in that day I had a good paying job with a major Philadelphia bank and I could afford such frivolities.....and I did.
Explaining to Horace what we're about to do - he was okay with it
Fast forward to today. No dogs, no good paying job, no Christmas card photos with our dogs.
"Ready for our closeup Mr. DeMille!"
Some say we shouldn't "live in the past." I don't consider looking at and sharing these photos as "living in the past." I consider them memories of a different time. A happy time but a different time. Sometimes I feel the need to get another "little buddy" like Horace but I then realize that my little buddy will probably outlive me. Besides, Bill wouldn't permit another pet in our house. The loss is too great. So here are some of my photos from the 80's which I have now classified as "old family photos." Enjoy. You will be seeing more of them in future blog postings.
"We're ready!" You think herding cats is hard. Try and get three Pomeranians to sit still on wicker baskets for a photo shoot.
Do I believe in Heaven? I don't know. My common sense says there is no such thing as Heaven. I tend to believe that when you die there is nothing. A great void. Black, dark. Total unawareness.
However, and a big HOWEVER....some years ago I saw a Robin Williams movie called "What Dreams May Come." The Robin Williams character died in an auto crash in the Holland Tunnel (what a way to go). He died but he didn't know he died until he "woke up" in a colorful field of flowers in an oil painting. At first he didn't know where he was. As he slowly came to consciousness, he heard a dog barking in the distance. He recognized the bark. The dog barking was his long deceased dog "Katy". "I must be in dog Heaven!" says the Robin Williams character.
Katy rushes to him in the field where Robin Williams is lying among the colorful flowers. Very emotional scene and I get choked up every time I see it.
They embrace one another. Katy licks his face. They both walk off towards the beautiful waterfalls in the distance. That's when Robin Williams realizes that he is in the REAL HEAVEN, not just "doggie Heaven."
Folks, Bill and I have had five dogs (all Pomeranians) during our time together. Our last dog died in 1998. His name was Horace. His death was so devastating to us, we haven't had a dog since. I would get one but Bill couldn't take another loss of one of our pets.
Horace was special to me. Horace was my "buddy." Growing up our family had dogs. Sure they liked me but they were always my father's dogs. Of the five dogs we've had, four of them took up with Bill. Sure, they liked me but when push came to shove, Bill was the one they went too. Horace was the only dog in my life that CHOSE ME.
I don't know exactly why. Maybe because I rescued him from a pet shop window during my lunch hour one day when he was being overwhelmed by the bigger dogs in the window. I had no intention of buying a $300 dog from a pet shop in center city Philadelphia on that August day in 1982, believe you me.
The mistake I made was going in the store to inquire about the price of "that doggie in the window." Of course you know what the pet shop owner did (the sly salesman he was). He said "Here, I'll get him for you and you can hold him." Oh oh! What was I going to say? What could it harm?
I swathe salesman pick up the little orange fluff that was Horace as a puppy and hold Horace away from him while he sprayed him with something (which I later found out to be a deodorant because Horace stunk when I got him home - puppy mill and all that which I didn't know at the time, naive me).
He hands Horace to me and I hold him to my chest. He didn't stink when I held him (or at least I didn't smell the stink, that came later when I took him home).
As I cradled Horace to my chest (he fit real good by the way), Horace looks up at me as if to say "Please take me away from here." Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened next. I bought him on the spot! Oh yeah, I BOUGHT HIM.
Now here was a problem. I had to go back to work and now I have this stinking, three pound orange fur ball in a cardboard box with handles to take back to work with me for the afternoon. What was I going to do with him? Good thing my bank operations manager position provided me with a desk back in the corner of the third floor of the Morris Building on Chestnut Street.
I returned to work and put the Box With A Dog In It behind my desk. Of course several people in my unit asked "What's in the box?" I forget exactly what I said but I don't remember telling them it was a dog. I didn't want everyone back there "oohing" and "aching" and creating a distraction. Just get through the afternoon Ron.
Horace was quiet. Them there was a whimper. I put my hand in the box on top of his greasy orange fur. He stopped whimpering. I did that every time that afternoon when he whimpered.
Next stop, the commuter train home. I didn't know if they had a rule about pets on a train but I wasn't going to take any chances. I wasn't going to go to the train with a dog on a leash. Horace stays in the box. So there I go to the train station with my briefcase (the Big Deal Businessman from the Big City) and a cardboard box with handles and three pounds of stink in a box.
I get on the train amongst my fellow commuters. I find a seat in the back away from most of the other commuters. An occasional whimper emits from The Box. My hand automatically goes in the box and the whimpers stop.
After we're on our way for the seventy minute commute to my home in Downingtown, the train conductor ambles by to punch my commuter ticket. He pauses and looks at me and casts a casual glance at The Box. I'm holding my breath praying that Horace doesn't whimper because I don't want to HAVE TO EXPLAIN WHY I BROUGHT A DOG ON THE TRAIN. In retrospect me having a dog on the train probably wouldn't have been a problem but I just didn't want to GO THERE. I had visions of being thrown off the train somewhere near Paoli and having to call Bill to pick me up and then explain to Bill why I was thrown off the train. Oh no, I still had to think of what I was going to tell Bill when he picked me up at the train station in Downingtown. He didn't know I BOUGHT A DOG.
The crises pasts with the train conductor and me moves on. Another thirty minutes or so left on my commute. I kept my hand in the box the whole time remaining.
Horace a few days after his arrival at our home
We arrive in Downingtown. I disembark from the train, looking to see where Bill parked his Jeep Wrangler. I see him. He sees me. He sees I have a package. I knows I'm a shopaholic. With some bemusement he asks "Well, what did you buy this time?"
As I'm placing the Box With a Dog in the back seat I nonchalantly tell him "A puppy." Hey, I'm not one for beating around the bush. Just get out the news and deal with it.
Bill says "What did you say?" I said "A puppy." He turns around and looks at me to see if I'm serious and says "You have GOT TO BE KIDDING?" That's when I turned around and took the Box With a Dog off the back seat and put it on my lap. I pull out the Stinkball that is Horace.
Bill's eye just about popped out like the Roadrunner's when he sees the "BEEP-BEEP" bird. Bill couldn't believe it.
The rest of the ride home Bill bemoaned and groaned and said "You'll have to take him back!" I knew that wasn't going to happen once I let Bill hold him.
Bill was a goner. We had a new dog in the house.
Now as I said before, we've had dogs before. In fact, we had just lost another dog (also orange like Horace) a few months before. Bill at that time said "Never again!" As I said before, Bill just can't take the loss.
Well, once he held Baby Horace (which is what he called him at that time - the name "Horace" is a subject for another whole blog posting), he (Bill that is) was a goner. Horace now had a new home. '
Horace - at home
Bill with one of our other dogs - Sparky - they always choose him
Now here is the interesting part. Horace had "picked me." Horace had bonded with me. All dogs we had before always bonded with Bill. We got two dogs since Horace and they also bonded with Bill. But Horace "picked me." I was Horace's sun, moon and reason for being. I think what did it was me putting my hand in the box that afternoon and on the train.
From that first day in the house Horace wouldn't let me out of his sight. When I went to work Horace had stay in my bedroom (Bill and I sleep in different bedrooms) and spent the day lying on the clothes I wore when I was home. He wanted to be near my scent.
For the next sixteen years (which is a long life for a Pomeranian toy dog), Horace was my "buddy." He loved to go for rides with me.
You never saw a more pitiful expression on a dog's face if I left for someplace in a car and didn't take Horace with me. He LOVED riding with me. I would often visit my Mom. Horace would have to go. At my Mom's I would open the car door and Horace would jump out. I never had to use a leash with Horace, he always kept me in his sight. Here is Horace with my brother Isaac and my Mother. Notice how he is keeping me in his line of vision.
From 1982 to 1998, friends and family rarely saw me without Horace. It was always "Ron and Horace." We were inseparable.
Me and the older Horace during one of his last rides
Then Horace got hold. He muzzle turned white. He started to lose his mental facilities. He started to wet the floor overnight. He always acted so ashamed when I came down in the morning and saw the wet floor. I didn't mind, I cleaned it up.
Horace's favorite spot - my lap
Even though his bodily functions both mental and physical were beginning to fail him he still knew who I was. He still looked to the door in anticipation of "a ride" whenever I headed towards the door. He knew.
Then came the day (and it's hard to write about this even now, so many years later) that he couldn't get up. I came down to take him out. He was still in his basket. His eyes were open and he was breathing. I waited for him to get out of his basket. He couldn't move. He had a blank star in his eyes.
I lifted him up. He was as limp as a rag doll. His head dangled down from my arms instead of resting in them like they had for the last sixteen years. It was Time.
Me and Horace, Christmas 1984 - totally bonded - inseparable we two
I made the hard decision then and there that I had to end his suffering. The last few months I noticed that he was rapidly going downhill but that morning his body finally gave out. Horace had spent the last sixteen years as my devoted friend. Now was the time for me to do the right thing.
Old Horace - closer to the End
I called my vet and told him what happened. He told me to come down right away. I took Horace for his last ride. He rode in my lap instead of having his front paws on the driver's window like he always did. He seemed to know that this ride was different (so hard for me to write this now).
Horace about a year before he died - 1997 - old but still with it
I took him into the vet's office and was ushered in right away to a side room. Dr. Pollack (the vet) came out of a side room with his equipment. He asked me "Do you want to be with him?" Of course I said "Yes." I got Horace when he was just a young pup and I would be with him now, at the end of his life. That was the least I could do. I would not leave him now. (So hard folks, these memories, tears in my eyes).
The end was quick and painless. I left with Horace's limp now dead body wrapped in his afghan blanket that he always slept on. Bill was waiting for me in the car. He was crying (Bill can't handle these situations).
Bill drove home, I had Horace in my lap. At home we placed Horace's body in a freezer chest (we bury all out dogs in an air tight freezer chest). Bill dug a hole out in the flower garden where our other two dogs were buried. Horace had outlived them all. One was "T" who was a blonde Pom and Bill's devoted dog. The other was their puppy "Babydoll", the offspring of "T" and "Horace". Horace and T only had two pups. One we sold (which we always regretted, that's why we never raised any more Pom pups).
All right, I've been through five tissues so far in writing this blog. I don't know what's the matter with me but I get more emotional over a loss of a pet than I do people.
The pain of the loss of Horace, the only animal friend who "chose" me, was almost unbearable. When I went to work the next week every time I would think about Horace I would choke up and the tears would flow. Thank goodness I wasn't crying out loud. I don't think I've ever had a loud cry in my life, I usually just tear up real bad and choke up. I'm telling you folks, it took me MONTHS to get to the point where I could even think about Horace without choking up.
These days when I'm looking at The End for myself I often think, will I wake up in a field of flowers (I love fields of flowers) in Heaven one day and hear Horace barking and running towards me? Now folks, that truly would be Heaven.
Me and my Buddy for Life (and in the Hereafter) - Horace
