Our biggest problem with the Lions, I think, is that we're getting the worst of all possible worlds: we're getting one of the truly pathetic teams of all times...but without anything redeeming about them to make them loveable.
For a cross-sport comparison, let's contrast our situation with those of our neighbors in Chicago: the Cubs have made a tradition out of failure...but their fans still love them. There is, after all, something unique about rooting for a baseball team that everyone knows will fail in the end. And yet the fact of their inevitable failure draws people together, an exercise in hope as well as human camaraderie.
Here in Detroit, the situation is a source of anger: the Lions are many things...but loveable isn't one of them. There is little endearing about the way they chew up coaches and quarterbacks...and their draft choices have left people scratching their heads for years. They lose not by being adorably bad...but by making ill-timed mistakes and using badly conceived game plans, not dreadful enough to be pitied and cheered, but just untalented enough to be dreadful.
This year, though, they may crossed a line...or, more precisely, pushed their long-suffering fans across a line. But it's not the line from bad to loveable...making losing enough of a time-honored tradition to become the football equivalent of the Cubbies...or the '62 Mets. Rather, they pushed their erstwhile supporters across the line from angry frustration...to indifference.
There is much wrong with the team...and the town it hails from. Indifference isn't going to make either better. But given the chronic indifference shown by the team's management through the years---much like the self-dealing politicians who have driven Motown into the ground---it's a wonder that anyone really cares any more.
The hottest selling Lions apparel consists of T-shirts making fun of the team. Perhaps ridicule can succeed where loyalty and patience failed...but I, for one, am not holding my breath.
Neither, it appears, can some others:
We Are of Michigan
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Perfection!!
To paraphrase President Gerald Ford...our long municipal nightmare is over.
The Detroit Lions, ever seeking the cutting edge of futility, managed to do the impossible yesterday: in a league which drives all teams toward parity, the Lions managed a uniquely Motown version of perfection, falling to the Green Bay Packers in the season finale...and becoming the first team in NFL history to lose all sixteen of its games in a single season.
There have been pretenders...including the Lions themselves, in previous incarnations. But most of them---including the immortal 1976 Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who set the previous low-water mark at 0-14---were expansion teams. The Lions managed the feat after a long and storied tradition...of losing, since the end of the glory days in the late 1950s and early 1960s.
Not that it was an easy task: many times, the team seemed on the verge of victory, only to snatch defeat at the last moment. Whether through untimely penalties, misplayed defense, or a quarterback merry-go-round that seemed almost intended to keep the team in a state of flux, the coaches and players pulled together (in different directions, granted; but it was often at the same time...or, at least, within minutes of each other) to keep victory at bay.
And, in the end...perfection.
In a year filled with so much hatred, at least we can appreciate the gift the Lions gave to all of us...the gift of laughter.
Of course...laughter isn't exactly what most football fans look for in a team. But like following politics and current events...following the Lions is not for the faint of heart, and anyone who can't laugh at it all is apt to drive himself crazy.
So...
Laughter is their legacy
Losing is their fame;
Nothing is beyond belief
For Lions and their game.
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
The Detroit Lions, ever seeking the cutting edge of futility, managed to do the impossible yesterday: in a league which drives all teams toward parity, the Lions managed a uniquely Motown version of perfection, falling to the Green Bay Packers in the season finale...and becoming the first team in NFL history to lose all sixteen of its games in a single season.
There have been pretenders...including the Lions themselves, in previous incarnations. But most of them---including the immortal 1976 Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who set the previous low-water mark at 0-14---were expansion teams. The Lions managed the feat after a long and storied tradition...of losing, since the end of the glory days in the late 1950s and early 1960s.
Not that it was an easy task: many times, the team seemed on the verge of victory, only to snatch defeat at the last moment. Whether through untimely penalties, misplayed defense, or a quarterback merry-go-round that seemed almost intended to keep the team in a state of flux, the coaches and players pulled together (in different directions, granted; but it was often at the same time...or, at least, within minutes of each other) to keep victory at bay.
And, in the end...perfection.
In a year filled with so much hatred, at least we can appreciate the gift the Lions gave to all of us...the gift of laughter.
Of course...laughter isn't exactly what most football fans look for in a team. But like following politics and current events...following the Lions is not for the faint of heart, and anyone who can't laugh at it all is apt to drive himself crazy.
So...
Laughter is their legacy
Losing is their fame;
Nothing is beyond belief
For Lions and their game.
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Our Nation's First Geek-in-Chief?
Amid the turmoil in the world, and catastrophes looming on the economic front, reporters worldwide are leaving no stone unturned to understand the man who will be our next president, Barack Obama. And in an adventure in investigate reporting that could well relegate Woodward & Bernstein to mere footnotes in American Presidential History, a reporter for the Associated Press has uncovered mounting evidence that President-elect Barack Obama is, in fact, a geek.
Citing volumes of circumstantial evidence, a report by Seth Borenstein of the Associated Press notes that the tell-tale signs appear to be unrefutable: the omnipresent blackberry; the youthful comic-book collection; his inspired use of the Internet as a campaign tool. But Borenstein cites two incidents---well-hidden during the campaign, most likely for fear of upsetting campaign plans during a tough, bitterly-fought election campaign---which appear unmistakable and irrefutable:
First, Obama was savy enough to flash the Vulcan "live long and prosper" salute to Leonard Nimoy last year, when the two men met. As most true geeks know, this salute does not occur naturally in nature, and must be practiced to be executed properly.
Even more telling, however, was an incident captured by Newsweek...in which Obama pointed to his wife's belt buckle as possibly containing dilithium crystals---then cracked, "Beam me up, Scotty," while laughing at his own joke. Michelle Obama's reaction---rolling her eyes in exasperation, a well-recognized marker of a mate's habitual geekdom---appears to provide the clinching piece of evidence.
It is unknown at this time just what effect having a "geek-in-chief" will have on American society. Observers will be carefully monitoring upcoming Star Trek conventions, to see whether the development causes unrest among geekdom's less-well-hinged but hitherto quiescent fringe elements.
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
Citing volumes of circumstantial evidence, a report by Seth Borenstein of the Associated Press notes that the tell-tale signs appear to be unrefutable: the omnipresent blackberry; the youthful comic-book collection; his inspired use of the Internet as a campaign tool. But Borenstein cites two incidents---well-hidden during the campaign, most likely for fear of upsetting campaign plans during a tough, bitterly-fought election campaign---which appear unmistakable and irrefutable:
First, Obama was savy enough to flash the Vulcan "live long and prosper" salute to Leonard Nimoy last year, when the two men met. As most true geeks know, this salute does not occur naturally in nature, and must be practiced to be executed properly.
Even more telling, however, was an incident captured by Newsweek...in which Obama pointed to his wife's belt buckle as possibly containing dilithium crystals---then cracked, "Beam me up, Scotty," while laughing at his own joke. Michelle Obama's reaction---rolling her eyes in exasperation, a well-recognized marker of a mate's habitual geekdom---appears to provide the clinching piece of evidence.
It is unknown at this time just what effect having a "geek-in-chief" will have on American society. Observers will be carefully monitoring upcoming Star Trek conventions, to see whether the development causes unrest among geekdom's less-well-hinged but hitherto quiescent fringe elements.
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmases, past and present
The holidays can be stressful as well as a joy...and a time for feeling loss as well as joy.
Being with family and friends lends a warm glow to the day, even as the threat of indigestion from overeating occasionally manifests itself.
And yet the memories of loved ones who are no longer with us---who live only in our memories---makes the season bittersweet as well, lending a taste of just how fleeting life can be (as well as a reason for grasping joy and love while it lingers around us, rather than waiting until the end). It is, perhaps, most keenly felt among those who, in the past, have lost loved ones during the holiday season.
And yet seeing the glee in a child's face on Christmas morning can make anyone feel young again. This, then, is truly the magic of Christmas.
Being with family and friends lends a warm glow to the day, even as the threat of indigestion from overeating occasionally manifests itself.
And yet the memories of loved ones who are no longer with us---who live only in our memories---makes the season bittersweet as well, lending a taste of just how fleeting life can be (as well as a reason for grasping joy and love while it lingers around us, rather than waiting until the end). It is, perhaps, most keenly felt among those who, in the past, have lost loved ones during the holiday season.
And yet seeing the glee in a child's face on Christmas morning can make anyone feel young again. This, then, is truly the magic of Christmas.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Confusing Politics with Religion
Much is made these days about the threat of "Radical Islam"...and the fact that the Jihadists often seem bent on killing as many Westerners---particularly Americans---as they can. This has led some to adopt a posture of "political protectionism," akin to the trade protectionists we see in some circles, warning of the dangers posed by "radical Muslims" throughout the world. But at the risk of being thought "politically correct" (an epithet I regard as among the worst things you can call anyone who postures as a "thinker"), I think we need to be cautious about confusing politics and religion.
I think that, properly understood, all of the world's great religions speak to the best in us, not the worst. At the same time, all of them suffer from the handicap of human imperfection, and many of the "mystic" religions---those that assume the existence of an all-powerful God, as opposed to philosophy-based creeds, such as Confucianism---seem to have a thread of evangelicalism in them, seeking to "spread the word" and convert everyone to what they suppose is the "one true" path to salvation.
Unfortunately, this latter aspect also appeals to the worst in us---the facet of human nature that divides the world into "us" versus "them," and strives for ways to prove ourselves "superior" in some ways to the rest. It was that aspect of Christianity that took Europe on the Crusades...had otherwise sane people burning accused heretics and witches alive at the stake...and is still echoing around our own culture in some of the more extreme fundamentalist sects. And yet we, ourselves, seem perfectly able to separate out the "nuts" from those who view their religion as a source of peace and strength, and who view the philosophy of Christianity (and Judaism) as one of tolerance and brotherhood.
It seems to me that before we begin lumping all Muslims together, we need to understand the vast differences between them---differences that are every bit as caverous as those between the Unitarians, the Fundamentalists, and the Polygamists in Utah. Properly understood, many of the differences spring not from the teachings of the Christian religion, but from the political views---and, on occasion, the personal lifestyle preferences---of different religious leaders...some of whom are intoxicated by notions of their own self-worth, and all of whom suffer from human imperfections of their own. Similarly, I suspect that much of the mistrust and hatred that spills across cultures stems not from the core values of the various religions, but from the obvious excesses of each religion's particular strains of crackpots---those who pervert or distort those core values for their own particular ends.
To look at a non-religious analogy from American history, we need only examine our dealings with the natives, which any student of history must accept are not shining examples of honesty or integrity. There were many American Indian tribes who were peaceful, wanted nothing except to be left alone, and who agreed to treaty after treaty, trusting that we would live up to our word. There were also many bands of renegade Indians, who were outraged by what all the white settlers were doing, and would attack along the frontier (though never in the numbers we see in the movies). Our reaction was to lump all of them together...and we had an appalling tendency to attack peaceful tribes in retaliation---the attack on Black Kettle's tribe in the Sand Creek Massacre being among among the most appalling examples. (We also had a tendency to violate any treaty we found inconvenient, another aspect of settling the west that history books often ignore).
If we are going to try to get along in this world, I think all people of good will need to be able to recognize and distinguish others of like mind in different cultures from the "crackpots" that inhabit other parts of the world---and, unfortunately, dominate many of the headlines. Whatever the culture, I think that most people (well...at least those who aren't raised in a climate of hate) are well-intentioned and honorable, and are more than willing to enjoy the blessings we share on this planet. Unfortunately, while we can all recognize and dismiss our own culture's lunatics, we aren't always successful at doing so across cultural borders. And this, I think, is the source of much of the mistrust in the world---and the breeding ground for much of the hatred that perpetuates so many of the continuing conflicts that we seem to see around us.
On the other hand...we do have reason for optimism: the advent of the internet does make it possible to communicate directly with people all over the world. If it does nothing but make us realize that there are thinking souls on the other side of the world who are just as eager to help make the world a better place...if not for ourselves, then for our children and grandchildren...then that, I think, may prove to be the biggest step toward true peace the human race has ever taken.
In any event...at this time of year, it's a nice thought to have, even if cold reality returns after the New Year.
Of course, this does not, mean that our current notions of moral relativism, so prevalent among the "politically correct thinkers" of our day, should be mistaken for actual thought, rather than its absence. In my newest novel, The Star Dancers, a non-human diplomat observes that "Whatever the language, the voice of reason sounds much the same." I tend to agree, personally...though I might add the caveat that "reason'" does seem to imply at least a modicum of "thought," as well.
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
I think that, properly understood, all of the world's great religions speak to the best in us, not the worst. At the same time, all of them suffer from the handicap of human imperfection, and many of the "mystic" religions---those that assume the existence of an all-powerful God, as opposed to philosophy-based creeds, such as Confucianism---seem to have a thread of evangelicalism in them, seeking to "spread the word" and convert everyone to what they suppose is the "one true" path to salvation.
Unfortunately, this latter aspect also appeals to the worst in us---the facet of human nature that divides the world into "us" versus "them," and strives for ways to prove ourselves "superior" in some ways to the rest. It was that aspect of Christianity that took Europe on the Crusades...had otherwise sane people burning accused heretics and witches alive at the stake...and is still echoing around our own culture in some of the more extreme fundamentalist sects. And yet we, ourselves, seem perfectly able to separate out the "nuts" from those who view their religion as a source of peace and strength, and who view the philosophy of Christianity (and Judaism) as one of tolerance and brotherhood.
It seems to me that before we begin lumping all Muslims together, we need to understand the vast differences between them---differences that are every bit as caverous as those between the Unitarians, the Fundamentalists, and the Polygamists in Utah. Properly understood, many of the differences spring not from the teachings of the Christian religion, but from the political views---and, on occasion, the personal lifestyle preferences---of different religious leaders...some of whom are intoxicated by notions of their own self-worth, and all of whom suffer from human imperfections of their own. Similarly, I suspect that much of the mistrust and hatred that spills across cultures stems not from the core values of the various religions, but from the obvious excesses of each religion's particular strains of crackpots---those who pervert or distort those core values for their own particular ends.
To look at a non-religious analogy from American history, we need only examine our dealings with the natives, which any student of history must accept are not shining examples of honesty or integrity. There were many American Indian tribes who were peaceful, wanted nothing except to be left alone, and who agreed to treaty after treaty, trusting that we would live up to our word. There were also many bands of renegade Indians, who were outraged by what all the white settlers were doing, and would attack along the frontier (though never in the numbers we see in the movies). Our reaction was to lump all of them together...and we had an appalling tendency to attack peaceful tribes in retaliation---the attack on Black Kettle's tribe in the Sand Creek Massacre being among among the most appalling examples. (We also had a tendency to violate any treaty we found inconvenient, another aspect of settling the west that history books often ignore).
If we are going to try to get along in this world, I think all people of good will need to be able to recognize and distinguish others of like mind in different cultures from the "crackpots" that inhabit other parts of the world---and, unfortunately, dominate many of the headlines. Whatever the culture, I think that most people (well...at least those who aren't raised in a climate of hate) are well-intentioned and honorable, and are more than willing to enjoy the blessings we share on this planet. Unfortunately, while we can all recognize and dismiss our own culture's lunatics, we aren't always successful at doing so across cultural borders. And this, I think, is the source of much of the mistrust in the world---and the breeding ground for much of the hatred that perpetuates so many of the continuing conflicts that we seem to see around us.
On the other hand...we do have reason for optimism: the advent of the internet does make it possible to communicate directly with people all over the world. If it does nothing but make us realize that there are thinking souls on the other side of the world who are just as eager to help make the world a better place...if not for ourselves, then for our children and grandchildren...then that, I think, may prove to be the biggest step toward true peace the human race has ever taken.
In any event...at this time of year, it's a nice thought to have, even if cold reality returns after the New Year.
Of course, this does not, mean that our current notions of moral relativism, so prevalent among the "politically correct thinkers" of our day, should be mistaken for actual thought, rather than its absence. In my newest novel, The Star Dancers, a non-human diplomat observes that "Whatever the language, the voice of reason sounds much the same." I tend to agree, personally...though I might add the caveat that "reason'" does seem to imply at least a modicum of "thought," as well.
JEFFREY CAMINSKY, a veteran public prosecutor in Detroit, Michigan, specializes in the appellate practice of criminal law and writes on a wide range of topics. His books include the science fiction adventure novel The Star Dancers, the exciting second volume in the Guardians of Peace-tm series, The Sonnets of William Shakespeare, and the acclaimed Referee’s Survival Guide, a book on soccer officiating. All are published by New Alexandria Press, and are available on Amazon, as well as directly from the publisher.
Handel's Messiah
A bit of Christmas magic happened yesterday.
Yesterday, musicians gathered inside a church (a HUGE churche, actually)---some with their instruments, some armed only with voices and song. The work was Handel's Messiah---a work all serious singers perform in bits and pieces, but few get to perform in its intended setting.
We gathered at Ward's Presbyterian Church...along with a huge, appreciative crowd. And after a short rehearsal, we performed---singers, orchestra, and audience, raising voices in the spirit of Christmas.
It was one of the best concerts I've been part of...ever.
And it was done only out of love...whether love of music, love of God, or love of the spirit of Christmas. The venue was great...the singing was great (well, except for me; I think I'm coming down with another cold, and I doubt I sounded very good)...and everyone left with their hearts full of generosity and good cheer.
It was bitter cold outside, but that didn't matter. Everyone felt warm on the inside...and that's what really counts.
One postscript: in addition to Madonna's Dr. Dave, one of the conductors was Dr. Jerry Smith---a past choir director for Ward Church and something of a local legend in music circles around here. He was the music director at Livonia's Bentley High School forty years ago, when I was a teenager; and I remember singing some of our combined concerts with Bentley---and noticing the striking director, with the unique and forceful style. I understand that he's kept in touch with most of his students...and they get together for choir reunions from time to time, held together by shared memories, and their shared love of music and Dr. Smith. After the concert, I went up to talk to him...and told him how much fun it was singing for him again.
Yesterday, musicians gathered inside a church (a HUGE churche, actually)---some with their instruments, some armed only with voices and song. The work was Handel's Messiah---a work all serious singers perform in bits and pieces, but few get to perform in its intended setting.
We gathered at Ward's Presbyterian Church...along with a huge, appreciative crowd. And after a short rehearsal, we performed---singers, orchestra, and audience, raising voices in the spirit of Christmas.
It was one of the best concerts I've been part of...ever.
And it was done only out of love...whether love of music, love of God, or love of the spirit of Christmas. The venue was great...the singing was great (well, except for me; I think I'm coming down with another cold, and I doubt I sounded very good)...and everyone left with their hearts full of generosity and good cheer.
It was bitter cold outside, but that didn't matter. Everyone felt warm on the inside...and that's what really counts.
One postscript: in addition to Madonna's Dr. Dave, one of the conductors was Dr. Jerry Smith---a past choir director for Ward Church and something of a local legend in music circles around here. He was the music director at Livonia's Bentley High School forty years ago, when I was a teenager; and I remember singing some of our combined concerts with Bentley---and noticing the striking director, with the unique and forceful style. I understand that he's kept in touch with most of his students...and they get together for choir reunions from time to time, held together by shared memories, and their shared love of music and Dr. Smith. After the concert, I went up to talk to him...and told him how much fun it was singing for him again.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Callie
Like all great apes, human beings can be cauldrons of bubbling emotions. Our feelings ebb and flow with great and small events in our lives, lending texture and depth to our existence.
As with most things, emotions are a blessing and a curse, bringing us sorrow as well as joy. And as death comes to all living things, we face some of our deepest emotional chasms when we lose a loved one...even if the loved one belongs to an entirely different species.
Callie came to us as a puppy—and for myself, she brought decidedly mixed feelings. We already had one dog—who had just passed out of her own puppyhood—and to me, one dog was plenty. From a new spate of bite marks on assorted bits of furniture, to the recurring wet spots in various places around the house, to the ever-increasing piles of unprocessed fertilizer left to adorn the backyard lawn, it seemed to me that we were now exceeding our doggie quota, and that as a result the Universe was careening into chaos:
Going on vacation? Now we have two dogs to unload on some unsuspecting doggiesitter.
Taking a walk? Now we have two impatient escorts—and their constantly tangling leashes—to deal with.
Mowing the lawn? Now we have twice as much crap to pick up (or mow around...or through, if I’m all by myself and anxious to get back inside to watch the ball game. Or nap, another favorite pastime that is underappreciated by some members of the household).
Yet in many ways, Callie—a golden retriever mix—was the dog I’d always wanted: our other dog—a beagle, like most of the other dogs we've had—was loud and stubborn, and apt to wander off if given half a chance. Callie was big—bigger than any dog I’d had—and loved to play fetch. But more than this, she was loving and attentive and eager to please.
We could walk her around the block...or down a hiking trail in the mountains...and she’d never wander farther than she could see us. And she always looked back to make sure we hadn’t gotten ourselves lost...though if we had, she would have been only too willing to come to our rescue.
She loved the water—at least, once she got over her terror at confronting her first waves. All three inches of them.
And she actually brought back sticks and balls...something no other pet of mine had ever done, no matter how much I tried to teach them. And she did it instinctively, laying it to rest (well, sometimes only after a wrestling match) at our feet, eager to bound out again for the next go-round.
For eleven years she’d been a faithful friend, and a loving member of the family. Never complaining, always eager for attention...and yet happy just to lie at our feet, content to share the ups and downs of our lives—never judging us, her heart filled with nothing but love.
But over the years her steps gradually slowed on her walks, and the fur on her face started showing the gray of age. And sometime this year, her behavior started to change: barely noticeable at first, we came to realize that rather than perking up with joy when someone returned home, she had taken to lying quietly, more and more often. And though mealtime was still the highlight of her day, she had little energy for much of anything—not even the scrapes and fusses she used to cause, whenever someone came too close to her food bowl.
It turned out that Callie had cancer. And slowly, the dog that seemed like she’d been a member of the family forever was beginning to fade.
By Monday night, Callie had grown quiet, and wasn’t moving very much. Nonie, my wife, decided that we needed to take her in the next day, and wanted to spend the night with the dog whose biggest joy in life was being by her side. Not wanting to disturb the fading dog’s routine any more than necessary, she gathered a blanket and her favorite pillow to spend the night downstairs. Her husband, not wanting to see his wife spending such a sad time all by herself, volunteered to sleep on the couch near both of them. (This actually worked quite well—up until Nonie woke me up from a sound sleep at 2 am, with complaints about how hard it was to sleep on the couch. I hadn’t noticed; of course, I take many of my best naps there, so it’s just one of the many things around the house that passes under my radar. We spent the rest of the night back upstairs in bed, with Callie on the floor).
Tuesday, I stayed home from work to be around for support. Callie had an enthusiastic breakfast, and we decided to take her for a last walk around the block. The walk was slow—they’ve been getting slower bit by bit over the last year—but by the time we got back home, the old dog was showing a bit more life. And through it all, we were wondering whether we were doing the right thing...whether we might not have more time with her. But we concluded that we were delaying things more for ourselves than for this fading member of our family, and Nonie called the vet to make an appointment...only to discover that the vet wasn’t in. A family emergency had the doctor out of the office this week. We took it as a sign that death was in no hurry, and decided to wait.
Wednesday, Callie again enjoyed her meals, and though she didn’t show much energy, she seemed content and untroubled for most of the day.
This morning, she greeted breakfast with her usual glee...only to stop, half-way through, no longer interested. For a golden retriever, this wasn’t a good sign.
Unfortunately, Nonie and I both had things to do today: she had family business that needed attention this morning, and I had a big court argument. By the time Nonie returned home, it was obvious that things had taken a turn for the worse; where once the return of a family member was the occasion of joy, this time Callie just moved reluctantly out of the way...and then she lay down on the kitchen floor, and wouldn’t move. That’s when we knew we couldn’t wait any longer.
I returned home, and after some sad goodbyes, we loaded her into the car for her last trip. We took her on a last ride around the neighborhood, along the pathway she traveled many times, ending at the nearby field where she’d often run to her heart’s content. And then we took her for one last drive, to the doctor, gently stroking her ears as we drove, and never stopping until she’d taken her final breath.
It’s hard to lose a family member. It’s especially tough around Christmas; I lost two grandparents at this time of year, and it casts a pall over the entire season. But in the end, the soreness in the heart will fade. It will be the happy times that live in our memories, rather than the sadness that comes with parting.
Still, it’s amazing how many lessons we never learn until it’s too late. But there was one family member, now gone, whose short time on Earth tried to teach us that the greatest joy in life could be greeting someone who’s just come home; that the greatest gift is simply being close by; and that the heart often sings its happiest songs when someone you love notices you...and gives you a scrap or two of attention, amid the clutter of busyness that tends to take up so much of our lives.
It’s a lesson that at least one fallible human being in our family is still trying to learn.
As with most things, emotions are a blessing and a curse, bringing us sorrow as well as joy. And as death comes to all living things, we face some of our deepest emotional chasms when we lose a loved one...even if the loved one belongs to an entirely different species.
Callie came to us as a puppy—and for myself, she brought decidedly mixed feelings. We already had one dog—who had just passed out of her own puppyhood—and to me, one dog was plenty. From a new spate of bite marks on assorted bits of furniture, to the recurring wet spots in various places around the house, to the ever-increasing piles of unprocessed fertilizer left to adorn the backyard lawn, it seemed to me that we were now exceeding our doggie quota, and that as a result the Universe was careening into chaos:
Going on vacation? Now we have two dogs to unload on some unsuspecting doggiesitter.
Taking a walk? Now we have two impatient escorts—and their constantly tangling leashes—to deal with.
Mowing the lawn? Now we have twice as much crap to pick up (or mow around...or through, if I’m all by myself and anxious to get back inside to watch the ball game. Or nap, another favorite pastime that is underappreciated by some members of the household).
Yet in many ways, Callie—a golden retriever mix—was the dog I’d always wanted: our other dog—a beagle, like most of the other dogs we've had—was loud and stubborn, and apt to wander off if given half a chance. Callie was big—bigger than any dog I’d had—and loved to play fetch. But more than this, she was loving and attentive and eager to please.
We could walk her around the block...or down a hiking trail in the mountains...and she’d never wander farther than she could see us. And she always looked back to make sure we hadn’t gotten ourselves lost...though if we had, she would have been only too willing to come to our rescue.
She loved the water—at least, once she got over her terror at confronting her first waves. All three inches of them.
And she actually brought back sticks and balls...something no other pet of mine had ever done, no matter how much I tried to teach them. And she did it instinctively, laying it to rest (well, sometimes only after a wrestling match) at our feet, eager to bound out again for the next go-round.
For eleven years she’d been a faithful friend, and a loving member of the family. Never complaining, always eager for attention...and yet happy just to lie at our feet, content to share the ups and downs of our lives—never judging us, her heart filled with nothing but love.
But over the years her steps gradually slowed on her walks, and the fur on her face started showing the gray of age. And sometime this year, her behavior started to change: barely noticeable at first, we came to realize that rather than perking up with joy when someone returned home, she had taken to lying quietly, more and more often. And though mealtime was still the highlight of her day, she had little energy for much of anything—not even the scrapes and fusses she used to cause, whenever someone came too close to her food bowl.
It turned out that Callie had cancer. And slowly, the dog that seemed like she’d been a member of the family forever was beginning to fade.
By Monday night, Callie had grown quiet, and wasn’t moving very much. Nonie, my wife, decided that we needed to take her in the next day, and wanted to spend the night with the dog whose biggest joy in life was being by her side. Not wanting to disturb the fading dog’s routine any more than necessary, she gathered a blanket and her favorite pillow to spend the night downstairs. Her husband, not wanting to see his wife spending such a sad time all by herself, volunteered to sleep on the couch near both of them. (This actually worked quite well—up until Nonie woke me up from a sound sleep at 2 am, with complaints about how hard it was to sleep on the couch. I hadn’t noticed; of course, I take many of my best naps there, so it’s just one of the many things around the house that passes under my radar. We spent the rest of the night back upstairs in bed, with Callie on the floor).
Tuesday, I stayed home from work to be around for support. Callie had an enthusiastic breakfast, and we decided to take her for a last walk around the block. The walk was slow—they’ve been getting slower bit by bit over the last year—but by the time we got back home, the old dog was showing a bit more life. And through it all, we were wondering whether we were doing the right thing...whether we might not have more time with her. But we concluded that we were delaying things more for ourselves than for this fading member of our family, and Nonie called the vet to make an appointment...only to discover that the vet wasn’t in. A family emergency had the doctor out of the office this week. We took it as a sign that death was in no hurry, and decided to wait.
Wednesday, Callie again enjoyed her meals, and though she didn’t show much energy, she seemed content and untroubled for most of the day.
This morning, she greeted breakfast with her usual glee...only to stop, half-way through, no longer interested. For a golden retriever, this wasn’t a good sign.
Unfortunately, Nonie and I both had things to do today: she had family business that needed attention this morning, and I had a big court argument. By the time Nonie returned home, it was obvious that things had taken a turn for the worse; where once the return of a family member was the occasion of joy, this time Callie just moved reluctantly out of the way...and then she lay down on the kitchen floor, and wouldn’t move. That’s when we knew we couldn’t wait any longer.
I returned home, and after some sad goodbyes, we loaded her into the car for her last trip. We took her on a last ride around the neighborhood, along the pathway she traveled many times, ending at the nearby field where she’d often run to her heart’s content. And then we took her for one last drive, to the doctor, gently stroking her ears as we drove, and never stopping until she’d taken her final breath.
It’s hard to lose a family member. It’s especially tough around Christmas; I lost two grandparents at this time of year, and it casts a pall over the entire season. But in the end, the soreness in the heart will fade. It will be the happy times that live in our memories, rather than the sadness that comes with parting.
Still, it’s amazing how many lessons we never learn until it’s too late. But there was one family member, now gone, whose short time on Earth tried to teach us that the greatest joy in life could be greeting someone who’s just come home; that the greatest gift is simply being close by; and that the heart often sings its happiest songs when someone you love notices you...and gives you a scrap or two of attention, amid the clutter of busyness that tends to take up so much of our lives.
It’s a lesson that at least one fallible human being in our family is still trying to learn.
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