Stories: Not Too Far From The Ocean
The End of Polio? • I Was a Long-boarder • The Draft: What's Your Problem? • Timothy Leary? • To Ski or Not to Ski • Butch and Sundance • Dogs, Dogs, Dogs! • Arrivals • It's Just a Car • Fish On! • Music Musings • Walter Mitty Redux • Clamming and Crabbing • Grandpop: Can We Talk?
Dogs, Dogs, Dogs!
Okay, I have had dogs all my life, from my early years growing up in Santa Monica to my current life in Northern California. The first dog was Mibsey, a Doberman Pinscher my dad brought home one day, thinking his young boy needed a dog. Well, a dog would be nice at my age at the time (I believe I was 6 or 7), but this thing was the dog from the inner depths of the underworld. Something about a Doberman's trimmed, pointy ears bothered me even at my tender age. Every time I went into the backyard of our house, the thing chased me, and I assumed it wanted to rip my throat off. Finally, Mom intervened, and Mibsey was a thing of the past—good riddance.
A few years later, in my late teens, there was Tripod. My friend Bobby from high school, who worked for the local animal shelter, came by one day with a small Cocker Spaniel mix puppy that had lost her right rear leg in a lawn mower accident. They were going to put her down, and Bobby thought he could find her a home. I immediately took her in and named her Tripod since I was getting into photography then and thought it was appropriate for her. I had no idea what my parents would think about adopting a new dog, but they were both more than okay with it. In his last years, my dad loved to take her for walks down our street in Santa Monica. Tripod had always loved our family and accompanied me on my surfing journeys to Malibu. All my buddies on the beach loved her, and she would sit patiently on the sand while I was out surfing. Tripod passed away suddenly at home one day, and I buried her in our backyard in Santa Monica.
When I was in my mid-20s, I was pursuing my Master's in Graphic Design at UCLA. My friend Doug and his wife were involved in showing and breeding Irish Setters and asked me if I would consider taking on a potential show dog puppy named Brifield Peppermint Patty. I agreed, even though I didn't know what the hell I was getting myself into. Patty had all the appropriate AKC papers, but I just called her Woofie. Woofie was so adorable as a puppy but soon became the ADHC poster dog and had the attention span of a fruit fly.
Despite attempts at therapy, she remained high-strung. However, she did win many ribbons at dog shows and eventually became a champion, whatever that meant. We bred her, thinking that would calm her down, and she had eight beautiful puppies, which Doug immediately sold for $300 each.
I am grateful to my wonderful mom for looking after Woofie at the Santa Monica house during that time. Sadly, Mom passed away in 1979, and Woffie broke through the fence one day, never to be seen again—hope she found a good home. I know Mom and Woofie are in a better place now.
In 1970, I met a new girlfriend and a Basenji dog. At the time, I didn't know much about my new girlfriend, but I did know that Basenjis were small African dogs known for their unique barking sound and their love of jumping over grasslands in search of prey.
My girlfriend's family owned the Basenji named Benji, who didn't like me very much. During our first meeting, he bared his teeth and went for my pant leg, which her family found amusing—Benji must have thought I was prey. Secretly, I wanted to give Benji a castration and/or a frontal lobotomy.
There was a humorous side to all of this. My girlfriend's parents had a large, mature avocado tree in their backyard with an unusual circular dirt trail etched around the tree's base in a well-groomed grassy yard. I was told that the trail was created by Benji's habit of running at full speed around the tree.
I was initially skeptical about this, but I soon witnessed it on a warm spring day. I went to pick up my girlfriend for a day at the beach. When I arrived, my girlfriend said,
"Come quickly, as Benji is doing his thing."
We raced into the backyard and watched Benji running at full speed, barking like a parrot around the avocado tree, hence the unusual dirt trail in the grass around the tree.
I laughed and watched with amusement for at least 5 minutes. I wish I had a video since Benji was uttering his parrot-like bark while he ran, and I thought one of the neighbor's dogs might be in heat. The culmination of all this was when Benji jumped straight up, grabbed a low-lying branch of the avocado tree between his teeth, and hung vertically for a few seconds while still howling his parrot-like bark. I recall laughing so hard that I almost peed in my pants.
After spending many years working part-time as a gypsy scholar in the LA area at UCLA, Cal State Northridge, and other places, I finally met my wife. We had our daughter, and I landed a full-time position at De Anza College in 1989, where I developed and coordinated a new graphic design program. In 1991, my wife and I designed and built a house in Sebastopol on a hill we purchased in 1985. We chose to live there to raise our daughter away from the hustle and bustle of city life.
Fast-forward to the early 90s. Our family welcomed a golden retriever we named Ginger, chosen by our daughter from a litter in Guerneville. While Ginger the puppy was a delight, Ginger the dog was The Creature From The Black Lagoon. She had free rein over our 5 acres in Sebastopol and always managed to surprise me with something new and often unpleasant upon my return home.
She never bared her teeth at me, but I knew she wanted to. One spring, when my wife was back east visiting her family, I returned home to find Ginger munching on something. Despite my calls for her to come in, she continued munching and refused to go inside for the night.
The following morning, I called her in, and she waited at the front door with a peculiar smile on her face before promptly vomiting on the entry floor. It turned out that Ginger had caught and eviscerated a young faun and brought its stomach contents as a "gift" for me. I ended up burying the remains on our land, after which Ginger opted to spend some time indoors.
Then, there was Maggie, our family's beloved companion and my absolute favorite dog after Tripod during my early years in Santa Monica. Maggie was intelligent and affectionate, and some might call her obedient. However, at times, she liked to jump up on the butcher block in the kitchen and eat whatever food was left there. I can't blame her, as I would do the same. She would keep me company in the studio on rainy days, lying at the doorstep as if to protect me from any intruders. I miss you, Maggie.
