PickTures on Towards Freedom

009 A Far, Far Better Thing

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:31:21 -0800

Ranjana had been bad! Very bad!

This should come as no surprise to anyone who had read about her escapades in the nation’s capital. However, this time she wasn’t doing in some politician or other. She’d managed to do herself in!

Now those of you who know something about Ranjana may not be aware of the ‘dark’ side which she keeps hidden so well. After all, she puts on a such a charming, considerate demeanour that who could possibly have guessed that this is the person who caused the demise of three of Canada’s most prominent leaders! You can find the ghastly details in the published and authoritative document: Ranjana in Ottawa.

This sordid business, believe it or not, took place while she was merely a teenager! So you can imagine how serious things could have gotten for Canada (and even beyond) as she came into full possession of her powers!

You see “Ranjana” is phoenetically nearly identical to the Bengali word “johntrona” which means “problem” or “trouble” or “irritation”! So the obvious should be immediately evident!

Fortunately, it was part of my fate to protect others by intervening with my personal self and attempt to neutralize the influence she might have thrust upon an unsuspecting humanity. Yes, I understand how remarkable was this sacrifice and Dicken’s poignant words: “It is a far, far better thing I do …” forever echoes in my head as solace.

Many decades ago (though years be eternities!), I made a significant contribution to this cause by marrying her. While such a noble action at least kept the potential for disaster under containment within a somewhat localized perimeter, it required constant vigilence to ensure that all beyond, were indeed kept free from the imminent danger therein. I am pleased to say that my efforts have been largely successful as there have been only a very few casualties and they are still alive, albeit understandably in a certain state of disorder.

Now that you have some background, I can relate to you the present tale which would be worthy of being printed in tabloid media … were it not actually true!

Ranjana and her mother had developed rheumatoid arthritis in 1976. The simultaneity had the doctors baffled though such things should not be considered too surprising, given the state of medicine in the 20th century.

Her mother opted to go the drug route while Ranjana tried that for a while too, but then realized in a constipated moment of enlightenment that she didn’t want her health to become dependent upon pills and needles. Of course, her decision was assisted by the fact that her arthritis quack got her to take a particular drug even after she told him that she was allergic to it. The result was a series of dark blotches on her back which lasted several years.

When all drugs were stopped, her situation deteriorated initially. The arthritis got progressively worse and by 1992 she was on crutches. It was a disappointing time for our young son Kyron as well, who despite having two parents, found that one of them couldn’t quite play the way he would have liked her to.

However, Ranjana persevered against the arthritis and employed three significant tactics. The first was meditation: a calm, perceptive mind works with synergy to optimize what the body is capable of accomplishing. The second was eating blue-green algae: a high nutrient food goes a long way towards helping a body recover. The third, and most important item, was to go vegan: animal proteins wreak havoc inside bodies through a process known as protein antigeneity, which causes large animal protein molecules to be viewed as antigens causing inflammatory diseases such as arthritis, eczema and asthma.

Her efforts paid off. By 1996, she was not only walking with a lessened limp, she had regained much of her former athletic abilities that were quite prominent in her high school days. She was able to run, skate and even play tennis again!

One would think that this story could come to a happily-ever-after ending at this point, but one must realize that we are dealing with Ranjana, so it cannot be so.

After several years of steady improvement, in 2000, Ranjana decided with Garth (one of my son’s godfathers), to start up a non-profit called the Cowichan Family Caregivers Support Society . The name is excessively long, but the intention was a very good one. Caregivers give service to their family (and their community), often relinquishing their own activities to provide care. Sometimes, it means losing their employment too since certain situations require considerable care. The stress levels can be very high and it is not uncommon for the caregiver to fall seriously ill as well. They need support and societal institutions just don’t provide enough.

Ranjana’s idea was to utilize a concept of community-building known as a Support Circle (which she had learned from a former teacher of mine, Marsha Forest) and apply it to these specific situations.

The society was a great success providing a much needed service in not just our local community, but well beyond. The provincial government supported it in many ways and the federal government financed various projects through significantly large grants.

President Garth admirably managed the organization under Ranjana’s stern hand and watchful eye! He had hired her five years earlier while he had been a member of a different non-profit, so it was quite understandable that she would recruit him to engage in this activity due to his vast experience. The poor man was even made to do the dishes after dinner at our home! Is it any wonder that this fine individual was awarded the Governor General’s Caring Canadian award? I really had no objections about the dishes because Garth was merely in his eighties at the time, and besides, if not for him, it would have been I!

Then the society made another quantum leap with the 2005 arrival of Michael from Austria! We had met him playing chess on the internet. He was a remarkably competent finance manager and the comptroller for Stihl Austria! Furthermore he was a talented clarinetist and even spoke German! Ranjana figured he would be a worthy addition to her entourage even though we didn’t have any need for anyone to speak German. She placed him right away into the finance area and eventually he found himself adding on the rather complex task of organizing the society’s primary fundraiser The Shawnigan Lake Adventure! He helped prepare the vegan meals at home so that Garth would have some dishes to wash. As you can no doubt understand, I had no objections on this count either for the reasons cited earlier.

Though things looked as though they were going fine, no one was computing the actual effort required to keep the show on the road. Managing a high profile society can be very labor intensive and some people worked overtime even though they were technically volunteers. The final stop where the pieces had to be assembled was Ranjana and gradually the toll manifested itself in the form of her arthritis acting up.

When you’re swimming in mud, it can be difficult to know how dirty you are. Even though I kept telling her what was happening, Ranjana wouldn’t listen. Her ‘work’ had become far more important than her health.

During low activity points, her condition would improve because the stress wasn’t there, but repeatedly, the arthritis returned as her body kept telling her to cut it out! She didn’t though, for obsession is a dominating companion.

One day I emphasized that though her body had recovered to varying degrees in the past years, there would come a time when it would be unable to. There is a point of no return one can push to.

As things got progressively worse, Ranjana took up a cane, then crutches and then a wheelchair. We created a ramp into the house so she could get in and out and would wheel her to the car and put the wheelchair into it. At the other end of the trip, someone would get the wheelchair out, then push her to whatever location her society business was to be conducted. The process was reversed on the return home.

In the fall of 2011, even Ranjana had had enough. She realized that this time her body was not going make it and though she is very much against doing the medical route, she decided she was going to have a knee replacement. Some of the encouragement for this decision came from our activist friend Tricia who in her sixties had not only come through a double knee replacement, but as a vegan, amazed her doctor with her recovery rate! We figured, Ranjana would be able to do the same.

So she began studying about knee replacements to the point where she probably could have performed one herself! One benefit of this activity was that she was forced to cut down on the society workload, thus allowing her body to gain some much needed strength.

She felt confident about the surgeon too. He was an experienced fellow though he didn’t have a good sense of femur. Upon hearing that one of his operations resulted in the patient having one leg shorter than the other, Ranjana showed signs of trepidation. However, after I pointed out that such a discrepancy likely wouldn’t make much difference for her because a) she’d been limping all this time anyway and b) she was after all, somewhat vertically challenged to begin with, she seemed to take it in stride.

As the big day drew nearer, she went to see the anestheologist who was quite taken aback by the fact that Ranjana never did any drugs at all. In fact, for a while, he must have been quite flustered because Ranjana thought he started to call her names, the most potent one being that she was ‘opiate naive’. I thought perhaps he should put an anesthetic mask on himself on low dose just to relax a bit, but since I wasn’t there, it was not possible for me to make such a suggestion.

Now you may be wondering what our friends Michael and Garth had to say about all this. Well you’ll be surprised, as I certainly was!

Michael, as mentioned, was a very good chess player. He is a paragon of preparedness that would put any boy scout to shame! For instance, he not only has a 5-blade hand razor, but also an exceptionally fancy electric shaver which actually cleans itself through an elaborate vibratory mechanism. Add to this his extensive collection of lotions and cremes (all of which are cruelty-free, of course), and one has to admire how there can be no hirsutian emergency with which he cannot cope - especially when one considers that he chose to sport a full beard all these years.

So utilizing these remarkable anticipatory skills, Michael had fled the country in 2010, thereby putting significant temporal and spatial distance between himself and Ranjana’s operation.

Garth, on the other hand, is not known for his chess playing abilities. His talent lies in spontaneous insight and creative solution. He displays these qualities admirably at society meetings. Not having the foresight to cancel these in the first place, his uncanny senses indicate to him when there is too much talking taking place. With remarkable panache he solves the dilemma by indicating displeasure at the verbosity, after which no one dares to object his bringing the meeting to much needed closure. Unfortunately, Garth never dared to test that panache on Ranjana’s incalculable verbal capacity, but since I haven’t had much luck after half a century either, I suppose I really can’t be too critical.

Ten days before Ranjana’s operation, Garth’s insight revealed to him the impending difficulty he was about to encounter. That afternoon, we received a call from him asking if we could pick him up because he had wrecked his car in an accident. When I went to get him, he was no where to be seen, but I managed to find him in emergency where the police insisted he go, despite protests, on account of his being nearly 90 years old. Later that evening, I took him his cellphone battery and found they were shipping him to a more sophisticated hospital for a brain operation. His nieces were coming to look after him (as Ranjana obviously couldn’t) and he was going to be out of action for several weeks.

So guess who was left holding the ball and forced to look after Ranjana? As you can see, certain people are very adept at planning their escape, while others have the capacity to conjure miracles!

When the day for the operation arrived, I agreed to drive Ranjana to the hospital even though I thought eleven in the morning was excessively early. We’d purchased a 1998 Honda CRV some months back which was built fairly high, so Ranjana could sit down rather than fall into the seat. I felt it would be unfair to the vehicle to risk having Ranjana drive it with one functioning leg.

I brought Ranjana to the admittance booth and she filled out the paperwork after which we were told to wait in a designated area. She of course was sitting in the wheelchair, but I stood because I figured I shouldn’t get too comfortable and be poised to make my getaway as soon as a window of opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite that simple because I then had to wheel her into the operation preparatory room where several other silly things took place. I don’t remember all these things, but I know I was standing the entire time!

Finally, I was permitted to leave as the nurse took over. I gave Ranjana a parting sentiment of important advice. I told her to make sure the doctor knew the correct leg to do the knee replacement on! There was no way I wanted to have to bring her back to go through all this standing up again!

That afternoon, I received a call from Ranjana. The operation was over, but she didn’t know when. Though they only gave her a localized anesthetic, she had fallen asleep during it. When she woke up, they were trying to send her up to the regular ward.

She wanted me to bring her some things and when I got there, she was thankfully fast asleep. However, she somehow managed to wake up before I could put the items into the locker and leave.

Ranjana told me that a different anesthologist had actually done the job. He told her that she probably thought this is another routine job for them, but he wanted her to know that he understood it was an important day for her and he was going to do the best he could. The surgeon asked Ranjana how she was just before the operation. When she said she was nervous, he also, reassuringly told her that he wasn’t.

It turned out that the operation was actually done on the left leg which was the correct one after all, but just to make sure she was fully certain, I said: “Looks like they operated on the right leg”, causing her to look down and insist that it was the left leg. Before she could get mad at me, I brilliantly utilized the wordplay opportunity and said that it was the right leg indeed (as opposed to being the wrong leg).

I had to go back for the next three days, though I forced my parents to come and made them sit with her so I could take off. The nurses looking after her were very nice, so between them, my parents and the fact that Ranjana slept a lot, I was able to lead a nearly normal existence. We make the best of things as we can.

Before Ranjana came home, one of the nurses showed me how to inject her in the stomach with some silly fluid. I got quite good at doing this and after the second or third try, Ranjana couldn’t even feel the needle going in. I’m sure it wasn’t because of shock or anything like that. I was even disappointed when the exercise stopped for it had been yet another opportunity to demonstrate my medical expertise.

The therapist used to visit every week to help Ranjana exercise and increase the angle her knee would bend to. It was a pretty routine procedure. She’d appear all smiles then go and yap with Ranjana for an hour. After that she’d tell me how well Ranjana was doing and how she’d be back to normal in no time. Then she’d not understand why my shoulders seemed to slump under a great weight.

As expected, Ranjana made very fast progress since she was vegan, while the therapist looked on in astonishment. Not surprisingly, Garth, also a vegan, recovered at a suspiciously well-synchorinized rate. Michael, however, being ever the planner, isn’t taking any chances and will not return for a few months still, sometime in the summer of 2012 we have been led to believe.

These days Ranjana is moving quickly, but not quick enough to catch me - not that she ever could! When people ask me how she is, I tell them she is behaving herself. This is a true statement, because she really is. She has set office hours for the first time in her life and is actually sticking to them. Every now and then, she has to be scolded for certain excessive efforts, but for the most part she is not over-extending herself.

At present we manage what we can and are always watchful, consoling ourselves with the ongoing refrain:

“It is a far, far better thing that I do …”

008 The Way of the Rabbit

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:30:44 -0800

Poppy is a beautiful silver rabbit whom we got from the SPCA as a companion to Gaw the philosophical guinea pig. So first let me tell you about Gaw even though this is not his story.

Gaw was originally named Pansy for some completely inexplicable reason. We took him in because the people he was staying with couldn’t keep pets. We couldn’t either, but when I explained to our landlords that my son was so desperate to have a little friend that he was playing with and even naming the woodbugs, they relented. Gaw had a very sagacious look even when he purred. It was the look of a wise being.

Once in our own house, therefore, Poppy at the impressionable young age of 8 months, met Gaw and was no doubt taken with him. Gaw taught him the lessons of life and leadership and eating each day, though Poppy would play hooky once in a while by jumping up onto a chair and hiding from Gaw - or possibly that was the location he’d been instructed to do his meditations in … these things are hard to know.

And when Gaw felt that Poppy had learned all that was needed, he decided to depart his guinea pig form and go on to other things, but again in his own style - Gaw died in front of Poppy, my son and myself, happily eating away in his 8th year of life.

Poppy was about 4 years old now and we went to the SPCA to find him a companion. Going into SPCA’s is generally a painful experience - there are so many who yearn for a caring home, yet so few will ever know one. However, these rabbits were setup in luxury! Housed in large cages, they enjoyed a multilevel suite with all the amenities a rabbit could likely wish for. In fact, I rather doubt any of them wished to leave.

We brought back a very friendly fellow named Buster, a fairly large brown and white individual who had been treated for sinus problems. He got along wonderfully with Poppy for a few months and then died rather suddenly due to a common rabbit problem called middle ear infection. It was touching to see Poppy prod and lick the dead body of his companion trying to get some movement out of him. Rarely have I seen such diligence and caring given to a friend who is no more.

We went back to the SPCA to try again. The worker this time chose a very timid fellow who had been born there and just didn’t want to leave. He was nevertheless taken since we humans have this habit of knowing what’s best for everyone. His name was Martin and Poppy took as good care of him as he had done with Buster. Martin became Martoon and was eventually shortened to Toony.

Then we learned that we had a chance to bring Toony’s mother, Pebbles, home as well. The intent was excellent, but like Toony, Pebbles had no wish to leave. Why should she? She’d lived at the SPCA for two years. It was her home. She too had been treated for a sinus problem, so we were a bit concerned, but we were enticed by the notion that two years was a long time to be without a home (even when you had one) and that the mother and son reunion would be a joyous one.

Well it wasn’t. Neither Pebbles nor Toony had the slightest interest in each other and the former was even more timid than her son. Poppy did his best to make her feel at home, but she wasn’t happy to be in the company of other rabbits.

My son, Kyron’s music teacher, Iris at this time was breeding rabbits. Well, she really wasn’t breeding them, but they were breeding at her place because she kept feeding them. Soon the population had grown to around 50 and they were wandering all over her property. Some of them weren’t given a fair start in life and died early, but there were two we know of who beat the odds.

The first was Simon. He was a small rabbit who had to be taken in and cared for by Iris because he had serious health issues when he was very young. However, through her efforts he became stronger and it became possible to release him. Of course, he hung around with all the others as an ordinary member of the pack. Simon, though wasn’t an ordinary rabbit. Despite the slow start he’d been granted, he had a sense of responsibility and eventually became the lead rabbit that all the others followed through the bluejay quarrels, the otter attack (which claimed the life of more than one rabbit), as well as the counter-attack on the feral cats which kept these away. It was a true ‘underdog’ story if there ever was one! Being the leader does not come without a price though and Simon died at the usual age of 5 which is fairly common for top rabbits. After Simon, Iris stopped the feeding and the rabbits gradually dispersed.

The other rabbit was a small white runt that was continually picked on by the bigger creatures. Iris not only felt sad for him, but thought he was likely in danger so she asked if Kyron could take him home. This little fellow’s body was just a bit longer than his ears and so, primarily for that distinction he was named Yoda. He was put in a box in the bathroom with Pebbles initially just so that the two male rabbits didn’t go after him and things went admirably the first day.

On the second day, we heard a great commotion in the bathroom. Yoda had gotten out of the box and Pebbles was chasing him all over the place. Fortunately, he was considerably faster so she never caught him.

Gradually all four rabbits were brought together and Poppy maintained an appropriate level of justice. While Yoda was small he protected him from Pebbles. When he got large enough to take care of himself he let them be. And when Yoda reversed the tables and started going after Pebbles, Poppy brought him back into line. He always tried his best to make Pebbles part of the group and succeeded to some extent, but we now feel it would have been much better to not have moved her from her place at the SPCA.

One day we returned home to find Pebbles dead apparently from the same middle ear infection that had killed Buster. It is curious that both had similar sinus issues, both had been treated by the same vet and both had died suddenly.

So now there were three and this is where our story really starts.

Poppy had already gained the respect of the other two and kept them nicely in line. Doing so required only a little effort since everyone was quite good-natured. Still, it didn’t hurt to assert one’s authority from time to time by chasing the other two around the room, which Poppy dutifully did.

Toony’s reaction to this routine was expectedly submissive. He was for law and order so he went along and played timid. Yoda wasn’t quite sure what to do though because he wasn’t sure what a hierarchial structure really meant - in fact, we’ve never been sure whether he understood the concept of a structure in the first place. So while he would run away from a charging Poppy, it was unclear to everyone including himself as to why he was doing so or where he was running to. While he accepted Poppy as the leader, the deference was rather moot since he didn’t seem to have a clue what a leader was. As far as Poppy was concerned though, it didn’t matter.

While Poppy had established himself as the ruler and Yoda had taken on the role of court jester, Toony proved to be the intellectual of the group and chief advisor to King Poppy. In preparation for this role, he’d allowed Poppy to trim his whiskers, something that Yoda either didn’t permit or meet the requirements for filling the position.

When not being timid, Toony appeared very calm and thoughtful. He especially liked to play that game with empty toilet paper rolls which the others never seemed to see the point of. The idea was to put a roll upright and Toony would snatch and toss it. You’d have to set it up again and he’d go through the process once more. He’d also take it from your hand if you held one to him, but it is likely he preferred the original to the variation. We still haven’t figured out what the purpose of this game is, but one only need to take a look at human games which involve grown people chasing after a ball or throwing things and one may be just as puzzled.

Yoda entertained himself in a different fashion. He would hop into our bed which is on the floor enclosed by planks of wood designed to keep the rabbits out. However, just as Yoda didn’t have the concept of ’leader’ clarified in his mind, he didn’t seem to appreciate that he wasn’t supposed to breach the barrier. He liked going into the bed partly to escape the other two and partly because it was fun in there - blankets and sheets to push around and chew up.

One game he liked to play was to attack the bed sheet when it was waved in front of him. He’d really get quite energetic about it and growl as he swiped it with his front paws. The other thing he rather enjoyed was to hop all over me during the early hours of the morning just about when I was in a state of not wanting to wake up. He particularly liked to find the highest point of elevation when I was lying on my side and stand on his hind legs to peer over the barricade. Then he’d run all over the bed again and return repeatedly to that position. Amazingly he never ran over Oooochiiii the cat who slept near my head or use my face as a launching pad.

At some point in their existence, Poppy decided they should assist in our day-to-day affairs. We have several computers networked together and that seemed to him like an ideal opportunity to show what an effective and helpful threesome his crew was. Networked computers have all these wires running from each other and can look rather untidy. No doubt this was the issue in Poppy’s mind, he and his charges being such a clean set of individuals.

The rabbits were accustomed to coming into the computer room from the adjoining bedroom, so their presence wasn’t anything new. So it was much to our surprise when we started noting that we couldn’t connect to the internet or access one another’s computers one fine day. Now you must understand that this really was a surprise to us since being Unix users we don’t enjoy the multiple delights the Windoze operating system offers such as its celebrated blue screen of death. Therefore, unlike the typical and unfortunate windoze user, we don’t experience issues - our systems run flawlessly!

Well we checked the network config files. We checked the physical connection to the ethernet cards. Out of desperation, we even did the windoze rebooting ritual! No luck! We were perplexed and finally decided to examine the cables connecting the various computers. The cables were there alright except there seemed to be more of them. Our helpful rabbits had chewed them into various pieces!

Our rabbits go out during the warmer weather to an enclosed space near the compost and spend a couple of hours there playing with the cats and guarded by our dogs. Their activities range from eating to digging burrows to chasing each other to just laying around.

The protocol for these outings is very rigorous. Poppy is the first to be carried down the stairs and put into the area. While he’s checking out the terrain, Toony is brought down. Just at the bottom of the stairs, Toony, unfailingly starts to wiggle and flail about. As soon as, Kyron’s feet touch the ground though, he’s completely calm. Finally, Yoda is brought to the place and proceeds to seek out the other two, Poppy acknowledging his presence and Toony running from it. Sometimes the chase becomes so intense that no one knew who was running from whom and all three of them would take off madly in all directions. When it is time to go back inside, the order of return was reversed: first Yoda, then Toony (no wiggling going back), and finally Poppy.

Once Poppy actually got through the narrow fencing beyond the enclosure. We all, dogs included, rushed to get him back in a panic. Poppy clearly had no intention of running off though. He hopped around a little as if to show everyone they really had no chance of catching him and then squeezed his way back through the same opening and started munching on grass while we looked at each other in relief.

Yoda disappeared too. We searched all over and under since the rabbits had made a burrow beneath the compost. We even hosed that area since it was the only way to literally flush them out when it was time to go inside. No Yoda. We waited and kept looking. For one hour, then two, then three to no avail. After dinner we tried again, but still no sign. I went up to the second floor to survey the backyard hoping that this high vantage point might reveal some insight. It did, but unexpectedly. Instead of spotting a white furball hopping about the yard, what I saw was Yoda emerging from under the compost. We rushed over in relief and he just looked at us with the what-is-the-big-deal expression. It seems he had found a home away from home and was somewhat reluctant to leave it on our time.

The years went by and our rabbits enjoyed each others company as we enjoyed theirs. Of course, the other characters were in the picture too. Oooochiiii the cat who slept at my head had plenty of occasion to experience Yoda’s frolicking in our bed. Bin Bon cat wasn’t regarded as civilized by our rabbits in his younger days because of his unwieldy pawing and was generally ignored, though as he matured his behavior changed and the rabbits started tolerating him. The Oh-Oh cats Opi and Obi got along famously with them the latter being particularly fond of Yoda, while the former was fond of everyone. Opi could be seen on many occasions grasping either Martoon’s or Poppy’s head in her paws and licking the same gently (she actually does that with my head too). And while he was with us, the Soleil the rooster stayed with the rabbits sharing their meals and companionship.

After Soleil died, a strange development started between Poppy and Yoda as the latter started to rebel. It is difficult to say what the mechanics were, but when Poppy would try to bring Yoda into line, Yoda would fight back. Eventually, we had to keep the two separated. Yoda had been neutered years before, so we were surprised this was happening both indoors and out.

One day Yoda did escape from the outdoor rabbit space and though we saw occasional bits of his fur over the weeks both in our yard and during our walks, we still haven’t been able to lure him back or catch sight of him. We are still waiting for the return of the Jedi, though we figure he is busy creating his own empire amongst the wild rabbits outside which is after all where his origins lie.

Several months later, Martoon who had reached the age of about 9 years, passed away. Again, Poppy attended to the body just as he had done with Buster. Martoon left with the unpresumptuousness with which he’d lived his life - never demanding, always cooperating.

Though his longtime friends were gone, Poppy was not alone and moved into the next part of his life with the same dignity and grace he had learned from Gaw and had always shown. We were unsure as to whether to bring another rabbit into the picture since we know Poppy likes to manage things, but chose not to because we felt that Poppy may prefer not to bear that burden after all these years. Instead, we spent more time with him as did Opi in particular.

Poppy took it all in stride as the wise rabbit he was. He’d spend the nights in his bedroom domain, but during the day he’d take up residence under the piano from where he could survey the goings on of the household. Opi, of course was his closest companion, but Bin Bon had grown to respect him and the two occasionally hung out together as well. Even the rambunctious Jumpr dog maintained decorum around him.

Poppy’s already robust health seemed to improve in these new surroundings. He was active, explorative and energetic showing no signs of slowing down though being more than a decade old. We thought of him as our very own ever-ready bunny.

As the weather warmed, he’d go out to the rabbit area to eat grass and run around quite often with Opi mutually chasing and being chased.

Every afternoon, I’d share some apple with him as he sat under the piano. This was followed by a pear. Then we’d enjoy some goji berries which he liked to take from my hand one by one. During our dinner, Kyron would sit by him while giving him his own dinner that was the precursor to the main nighttime meal which took place usually around 2am in the morning.

Last night, he came charging out from under the piano right into the kitchen because he knew Kyron was getting a bit of raisin bread for him, a treat he occasionally relished. This appetizer was obligatorily followed by the usual 2 almonds, before the inevitable meal of greens and veggies after which it was time to settle down to await the arrival of a new day.

This morning after waking up, I went to pet him as I do each morning, to find him lying lifeless. It appeared he had died only a couple of hours before, quite suddenly, though looking into his eyes and the relaxed postion of his body, it appeared to be a peaceful exodus. Quite possibly, he had been eating at the time, just as his guru had done years before. Perhaps the ever-ready batteries had finally run out.

It is difficult to say though. Richard Bach wrote: “Here is a test to find whether your mission on Earth is finished: If you’re alive, it isn’t.”

Poppy had lived with not just zeal, but with responsibility, awareness and self-discipline. He had taken the teachings of Gaw and had applied them to nurture the existence of many beings from members of his own species to cats, dogs, birds and humans. He had shared his composure and resoluteness with everyone, reminding us that what is always important in life is not so much to just live, but to live one’s purpose … what the Hindus say is our dharma.

As such, I think Poppy chose to depart because his mission as a rabbit was indeed over. He had honored his dharma with the highest integrity. May we do no less.

007 The Oh Ohs

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:30:08 -0800

I was reluctant to have the Oh-Oh’s live here.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like cats, but we already had two.

Our first cat Chuchu better known as Oooochiii had recently died. She had found us more than 8 years ago and was a gentle, uncomplaining soul who had unfortunately lost the ability to use her hind legs. I remember the first day she showed up having miraculously evaded our dogs and sat looking up hopefully at my young son. Her back legs moved with awkwardness at that time and she had recently given birth (who knows how many times). Gradually, the condition worsened, but not her spirit.

She had to be carried to most places, but could walk on her front legs when the back portion of her body was supported in a cloth loop. When she moved, everyone dogs, cats and people got out of her way. She kept an inquisitive watch over everyone who came within her proximity. She used to sleep by my head which is where she passed away one night at the age of more than 14 years. I just woke up to notice a slight fidgeting and she left. I guess it was her saying good-bye.

Carbon the BinBon was a black-and-white stray cat one of our friends found trying to get into her house. He was a very large and powerful cat with the courage of a mouse. The people at the SPCA who’d taken him in said he was a bit bossy, but that was really an illusion. What BinBon liked to do was stir up trouble and then run like the blazes. He and Oooochiii got along fine, but it was with the dogs Riky and Jumpr that BinBon found his place. In fact, I believe he thinks he’s really a dog and not a cat. He recognized Riky as top dog and so sucks up to him, but Jumpr he likes to push around despite being a fraction of the size … that is when he’s not being trampled by Jumpr’s enthusiatic charges as most in this house are.

Grizu had been left at a dumpster with a plate of catfood. He was confused and frightened, but came to us with plaintive meows when we’d arrived to drop off some stuff. He is one of those very vocal cats who you think was actually talking to you - everything involving him generates a meow of some sort. You could pet him and there would follow a series of meows. You could pick him up and there would be more meows. Try putting on his leash (all our cats go out on leashes) and more meows. It has never been clear as to whether these meows were complaints or otherwise, but they invariably sound forth like endless inextinguishable flames which I suppose is appropriate, since he was named, by our friend Michael, after the little dragon whose human father, being a fireman, kept trying to convince him to control his urges.

BinBon enjoyed tormenting Grizu by sneaking up on him whenever and wherever he could. Grizu always reacted with horrified meows followed by vicious hisses. This would bring top dog Riky into action to break up the squabble by barking loudly and the rest of the household would show up to investigate the commotion, only to find that BinBon was nowhere in sight. Of course not! He’d launched his attack, gotten Grizu and everyone else to react, and could congratulate himself on a job well done, while hiding somewhere in the sidelines. After a while though, Grizu figured out what was going on and launched his counter-attacks which would cause Riky to bark even more and bring the rest of us to the scene faster and in greater numbers. While the counter-attacks were a major shock to BinBon initially, he soon realized that these made things even more fun because there was far greater commotion!

So after Oooochiii left us, we had these two cats keeping everyone occupied and the thought of any other additions to the family seemed to me to be out of the question. The problem is that no one ever asks me any questions.

Ranjana and Kyron have the same music teacher Iris. One day they were surprised at their lesson to see two little kittens in the waiting room. One was a long-haired black and white kitten about 3 weeks old, and the other was an orange kitten about half that age. The first had been destined to go to a petshop, but Iris intervened and took her in. The second had been found on Iris’ property, nearly dead under a bush. His mother, a feral cat, had somehow been prevented from returning to her child and was thought to have been killed by a raccoon.

As the music lessons continued, the kittens grew in size along with Ranjana’s desire to bring them to our house. Kyron wasn’t so sure and didn’t let the ‘cuteness’ affect him. His concern was how would the interaction go with the other members of the family. My concern was the same and I felt that this was hardly an emergency because it wasn’t as though the kittens needed immediate rescue. Ranjana though, was convinced the kittens wanted to go home with her because they’d had a great time in the waiting room and meowed at the door when it was time to leave.

Iris, who is allergic to cats, really wanted to give them to a good home and appealed to her students, but no one was willing to take both. Iris refused to seperate them because the two of them were like sister and brother, the older one teaching and looking after the younger. We suggested that she feed them a properly supplemented vegetarian diet, since Kyron also reacted badly to cats who were fed the usual meat-based stuff, but found no problems at all with our veg cats. Iris was quite willing, but her husband had it stuck in his head that cats have to eat meat and refused. Unfortunately, it meant that the cats were kept in the small waiting room for most of the day and when Iris did let them out briefly elsewhere, she’d be the one to suffer.

Now, none of us liked the fact that these two were kept in that little room and every week when it was time to leave, the younger one, in particular, would call out to Ranjana and Kyron from behind the waiting room door. So one day, it was decided! They were to come here!

Ranjana and Kyron went over to a very happy Iris (she’d really been hoping we’d take them) and put the two in a box. When I helped them out of the car, I noticed that the elder was very intently looking around trying to absorb the situation, while the younger stayed as out of sight as possible inside the box. The two were taken up into a bedroom right away so we could gradually introduce them to the rest of their new family.

In a new setting it is generally a good idea not to introduce food till everyone acclimatizes a bit first, so we gave them a bit of time to look around the room. However, they seemed so comfortable that we thought we’d see whether they were interested in eating, but first, we had to go through the naming process.

It used to be when Kyron was 12 years or less, he’d offer the names, but he soon realized that no one calls anyone by name in this house so what’s the point? He left the job up to his mother who seemed to take a special delight in such things. The logic she employs to come up with the names is completely beyond me (after all how many cats are named after the sixth element of Mendeleev’s periodic table?), so I was not surprised when she chose Oberon for the orange baby and Ophelia for his black and white companion. She claimed that he looked a bit kingly (which he didn’t at all - and the fairy king was a bit of an immature dude anyway) and the other ‘just felt right’ even though she acknowledged the unfortunate ending the cat’s namesake came to in the Shakespearean play.

I wasn’t going to argue though and made the most of the situation by shortening the complexity. Oberon became Obi, and Ophelia was, quite logically, Opi. Ranjana however, had to mangle the simplicity by doing the Obi-Wan Kanobi Star Wars routine (whatever happened to Shakespeare?) and instead of appreciating the obvious symmetry of Opi to Obi, she insisted in calling the poor confused kitten Ophi. In any case, they had been named and as a combination became known as the Oh-Ohs … and with good reason as you will see.

Now that they’d been named and all was well, it was time to try eating. The kittens had been fed the usual commercial cat kibbles that have who knows what in them, but since cats can become very ‘attached’ to a particular food, we were a bit apprehensive as to how they’d take to our homemade vegetarian creation. All three of the other cats had been used to eating vegetarian Evolution kibbles (moistened with purified water) for years, but when we switched them to the homemade creations (supplemented with Harbingers of a New Age), they much preferred it, so we were hopeful this transition would go smoothly.

Instead, it went ravenously!

Opi and Obi went at the food as though they hadn’t eaten in days! They kept eating and eating … two, three, four helpings and finally there was a pause. When we told Iris about this, she was astonished because they ate quite minimally at her place. The increased culinery gusto was most likely due to the fact that fresh food always tastes better, particularly vegetarian. After this massive meal, we thought it best to let them have a much deserved nap and so we left the room.

The nap didn’t last too long though since the Oh-Ohs were soon ready get on with life and started scratching at the door. It was Opi who wanted out, while Obi was quite happy to stay put until his ‘sister’ had evaluated the situation.

So, Opi was carefully introduced to Grizu first since she spotted him nearby. We were a bit concerned because Grizu was prone to hysterics, but the meeting went quite well from a mutually respected distance. Now it was time for the BinBon cat to find out who the newcomer was and Opi was brought before him. Possibly daunted by his remarkable size, she hissed at him. He, however, was quite good-natured about the whole thing, no doubt wondering what this little fuzzball a quarter of his size was getting all excited about.

Then the dogs had to get in on the act. Riky, being the more mature and understanding, kept his distance, but Jumpr of course, charged in with his usual exuberance and had to be restrained. Well so much for initial introductions.

We took Opi back to her room only to find Obi lying comfortably on the bed and a messy, smelly deposit on the floor. It was quite soft and we were wondering if the food hadn’t gone well with him, but found out later from Iris that his stools had always been like that and he didn’t always use the tray (possibly because he had no mother around to teach him). Apparently, he had a digestive issue and had been dewormed by the vet. Our feeling was that a sensible vegetarian diet would likely be of greater benefit than traditional vet interference. Over time it has proven to be so. Not only have his stools firmed up generally, but his control and skill at using the litter tray became equal to any of the cats.

The Oh-Ohs were kept in the room at night, but were gradually introduced to the rest of the household. The get togethers with the rabbits and Soleil, the rooster we had found wandering on the street, were particularly entertaining. Obi was always the cautious one, letting Opi do the initiations. Opi on the otherhand, is the most adaptable being I have ever encountered. When she’s with the dogs, she is a dog; with the rabbits, she becomes accepted as a rabbit; even Soleil took to her as a fellow companion chicken! So one scene that was quite frequent at night was to have the 3 rabbits gathered around for their evening meal with Soleil pecking at his share (occasionally pecking at the rabbits, just for the fun of it), Obi looking on nearby, and Opi spawled in the middle of the greens and veggies!

Somehow, Opi’s customary maneuver is related to sprawling. I once saw her approach Carbon, who took some friendly swipes at her and she fell down right in front of him. Once in a while, she’d get up on the cats’ 3 level playground and fall from there. Twice we’ve heard a thud, only to find that Opi fell from the upper level railings of the stairs (a fall of about 10 feet) onto either the hard tiles or into the pot holding our Norfolk pine tree. Exactly why falling is such fun for her is unclear, but she certainly seems to enjoy doing so - maybe it’s a bit like flying.

Obi’s trademark though is to hide. He is, in fact, very good at it - so much so, that on many occasions he had us worried he’d escaped from the house. The worst such incident occurred when we had a wood-pellet stove installed and Obi decided he didn’t want to take any chances with the installers. About half-way during their efforts, it was suddenly noticed that all the cats were accounted for except for Obi. One of the installers said he saw a small cat on our porch so we naturally thought it was Obi and that he’d taken off. We all started turning the place inside out and then went outside, desperately trying to find this little cat, but to no avail. The installers’ last words as they left were that they hoped we find him and that he’d probably show-up when it was time to eat. Well he did show up right after they’d left. Exactly where he was hiding and how it was that we couldn’t with our best efforts find him is a statement to his skill.

Moths are usually of great interest to cats because they move. The Oh-Oh’s had different approaches to these flying creatures that on rare occasions found their way into our home. Obi stared at them intently and would start a peculiar clicking sound with his jaw, much like the chattering of teeth (he does that when watching birds out the window too). I have never seen a cat do something like this. It was obvious he had no intent to try to chase the moth (much less to kill it), but what was he doing? Was it a form of communication or a signal that he was actively involved in observation? Opi, on the otherhand, was interested in at least trying to catch the moth sometimes, though not to kill it. In fact, once she found one in the dog’s water bowl and was trying to scoop it out carefully with her paw. She was not successful though, but fortunately, we had become aware of her efforts and managed to rescue and release the object of interest unharmed.

One of the realities that must be faced when there are cats around is that it becomes necessary to give up the usual seating arrangements. Cats have a way of finding their way to one’s favorite armchairs and making themselves at home there. So just when you feel the urge to sit down with a good book in your favorite region of the family library, you find you can’t because a cat is in contemplation, occupying what used to be your spot! Of course, it would be rude to move the cat, so you just have to let it go.

However, when one has an understanding with a particular cat, one finds that sharing is quite possible. For instance, Obi having adopted me as the ‘favorite person’ and regularly making full use of any beard stubble to rub his face upon, will often position himself on one side of the armchair, allowing me to squeeze in. Together we will go about our business, I reading, he sleeping. The arrangement is quite equitable. Opi, on the otherhand, likes Ranjana’s chair. Sometimes she plops herself down in the middle so nothing can be done, but most times she prefers to go under it to fall asleep. Ranjana has to be careful not to step on the tail that protudes from under the chair, but is at liberty to sit normally otherwise.

Both the Oh-Ohs like to use their teeth for things other than eating. This is likely a natural action for growing cats (as it is for dogs) and chewing on things seems to be an enjoyable activity at this age. The problem unique to the Oh-Ohs though is what they chew.

We take our cats out on leashes because we don’t want them to take off (I’ve seen too many dead cats on the road), nor do we want them to terrorize the local fauna population (a talent they might develop if allowed to roam). So their leashes are hooked up to long (30 meter) cords which serve as a cat run. They thoroughly enjoy this activity, chasing and playing with each other within this restriction. The popular misconception that cats don’t like leashes is just not true.

In fact, Opi loves leashes - far too much. After a few months, she decided that leashes were things to be relished, particularly the plastic clips of the harness. So whenever she got the chance she’d get into the closet where the leashes are hanging and start chewing on the clips, not only of her own leash, but of all of them. By the time we discovered her activity, all the clips bore teeth marks and some of them ceased to function optimally. They are still usuable, but Opi has been labelled a menace around closets.

Obi, on the otherhand, likes to chew on people, especially at night. Obi generally sleeps beside me, but before falling asleep he enjoys being petted. The arm that pets him becomes an object of such affection that he feels he must grab it with both front paws and start chewing upon it. Sometimes, he’ll employ the same devotion to the top of one’s head. Some cats know their own strength and some don’t. Fortunately for us, Obi is one of the former, so beyond a few scratches these interludes don’t result in any serious injuries, though one nearly resorts to prayer during them.

Something we could never figure out is the envy between the cats and the dogs as to food and water. The dogs, particularly Jumpr, loves to steal the cats’ food whenever he can. Even when we give them all the same food as an experiment, he’ll avoid the contents of his own dish and relish that of the cats. Riky loves to drink water out of the small container for the cats. The feline company is not begrudging at all. They tried to get at the dog food to the point where we had to put the large bowls outside. Also, for some inexplicable reason, the cats will not drink out of their own waterbowls, preferring the rather large, and in my eyes, awkward ones, which are for the dogs.

After being here nearly a whole year, the Oh-Ohs have carved their niches into the household (in more ways than one). Opi has gone from Ms Congeniality to She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, chasing after the 3 male cats whenever she pleases. Obi gets mauled regularly, Grizu runs for cover desperately, and the much larger Carbon gets wrestled to the ground frequently! She is, however, considered a delight by both the dogs and the rabbits. She sleeps every night by my feet just the way Oooochiii used to sleep by my head.

Obi on the otherhand, has not only become MrSnugglebug (though at night he hangs out with the BinBon). He uses the stubble on my face to give himself facerubs whenever I’m working on the computer. I don’t get to do much on the computer these days because after the facerub, he generally insists on having a nap on the keyboard.

You can, therefore, no doubt understand why it is particularly difficult to write further about them …

006 The Pig Dog

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:29:39 -0800

Jumpr was originally called Gordon Whitefoot by the couple who got him from the SPCA. I guess they either liked Lightfoot’s songs or they thought they were being nomenclaturely clever. Unfortunately, they didn’t realize that this dog wasn’t interested in singing, but in jumping over their 3 foot high fence. No matter how they tried to stop him, he got over it, so after a short while they returned him in frustration.

We thought that Riky would enjoy a dog friend, so we headed over to the SPCA and one of the workers, Sandy introduced him to Jumpr thinking the two might get along. They played around for over an hour and Sandy remarked she never thought 2 male dogs would be so amicable. So it was decided and off we all went back home, Jumpr and Riky sandwiching my young son Kyron in the backseat.

We were initially very impressed with Jumpr who had obviously gone to dog-school. He didn’t pull you around on the leash. When his leash got entangled in his feet, he figured out how to un-entangle it. He was happy playing second fiddle to Riky and there weren’t any squabbles once the hierarchy had been established. In fact, we thought Jumpr might even teach Riky some of his elegant manners.

What Jumpr taught Riky to do was to jump the fence (and Riky, in compensation, helped Jumpr to forget all sense of decorum).

You see, the house we bought has a third of the acre surrounded by a four foot wire fence topped off with a strand of barbed wire. We never figured out why the barbed wire was put there because the fence certainly wasn’t high enough to keep deer out. We therefore suspect it was more to keep the previous owners’ children in.

Now Jumpr’s difficulty was that he was a sort of roundish being, likely a husky-shepperd cross. In fact, my son soon started calling him the ‘Pig Dog’, because he did have a similar profile. He was very strong, to the point where he would easily out-pull Riky in a tug-o-war, but agility wasn’t his forté. Three foot fences he could manage, but four foot ones were not to his tastes.

On the otherhand, here was an agile friend Riky, sleekly built and powerful! All Jumpr had to do was convince Riky how much fun it would be to get to the otherside of the fence. So one fine day, we go out to call the dogs, and Jumpr comes charging up to us all excited. We, of course, couldn’t understand the commotion, but he led us over to the fence. It was then we noticed that Riky was nowhere in the yard. Since Riky had never run away even on leashless walks, we couldn’t believe that the impossible had actually taken place. However, after a few loud “Riky’s”, sure enough our formerly ideal dog, stood at the gate wagging his tail vigorously!

We tried to pass off this incident as an anomaly, but a few hours later, there was Jumpr all excited again and Riky was on the otherside of the fence!

Ok! Time for defensive action! We spied on the dogs. Their communication was quite revealing. Jumpr would checkout different areas of the fence and Riky would follow him. Then there would be a pause where the two would look at each other with some sort of telepathy and suddenly, up and over went Riky.

So our course was clear. Bolster up the dips of the fence with chicken wire - that should stop him! Of course, we had to get the chicken wire and within that time Riky went over several times without Jumpr’s guidance - once actually through the six inch space between the barbed wire and the regular fence (don’t ask me how he did it, but i saw it with my own eyes!) and once he didn’t quite make it and was found dangling from one leg, caught on the fence wiring.

Finally, the chicken wire was in place and we were sure we had ended this nonsense. Even Riky’s athletic abilities couldn’t overcome our ingenuity, so we figured all was well. Unfortunately, we’d forgotten about the mastermind, Jumpr.

The Pig Dog understood that there was no way he was going to go over like his friend. However, there was plenty of opportunity to go under, right? All one has to do is dig and dig to create passageway. So suddenly, Riky comes up to us all excited, and sure enough, there is no sign of Jumpr in the yard. Where was he? He was standing on the other side of the gate, waiting for us to let him in!

Over the next several weeks, Jumpr dug and we filled his tunnels with earth, wood pieces, stones, rebar and even concrete, but he always found a way out. Riky was far too dignified initially to go under, but in a short time he too followed whatever pathway Jumpr would create. Jumpr going out on his own wasn’t a big issue because he’d just come around to the gate and wait, but when Riky started joining him, it all changed - they’d go touring the neighbourhood for a couple of hours at a time. They always came back, but this was not an acceptable situation at all! If you don’t let your children run amuck, there’s no reason to let your dogs do so.

I realized one day that we were going about it all wrong. We shouldn’t be trying to protect the exit points, we should deal with the culprits directly! So when they returned from their excursion, there were no greetings of relief. I put on a very unkind face (my extensive experience as a teacher prepared me well for that sort of thing), and took them both to the back and leashed them to the stairs of the deck: misbehave and this will be your reward!

After an hour or so, I went to check up on them to examine the state of their repentance. Riky sat quietly in shame. Jumpr was sitting too, but looking around. Suddenly, I noticed that his leash wasn’t attached to him! He had figured out how to wriggle free from his collar, but because he knew he was being punished, he just sat in the same spot! I thought I detected a bit of a smirk on his face, but it’s hard to tell on that face! This scene occurred a few times, but the dogs soon figured out that we didn’t want them running off from the yard, so we had reached an understanding.

Jumpr and Riky had a lieutenant-general relationship. Whenever there was an important issue to be resolved in the yard, Riky would send Jumpr ahead to investigate with his usual thoroughness of checking out every molecule of earth, water and air. When it was time to defend the territory, Jumpr would lead the charge with his ferocious bark that made one certain there weren’t any pig genes in his ancestry. However, Jumpr is the epitomy of the bark being worse than the bite. When Riky was around, Jumpr was in his glory, prancing and brave. However, if Riky wasn’t there to defend him, it was a completely different matter. Classic evidence of this occurred with the neighbour’s little terrier, Mini, with whom our dogs would playfully fence-fight.

Jumpr had pulled off one of his escapes and was heading around the fence to take up his usual post at the gate, when who should appear out of nowhere, but Mini. Though a quarter his size, Mini had a presence, and in that moment it was uncertain what that presence had in mind. It took one bark and Jumpr moved faster than we’d ever seen him, straight to the gate which he tried to push open with his front paws. Luckily we arrived briskly to rescue him from that terror.

Something that has proved fascinating is the relationship our dogs have with crows. We have tall trees surrounding our house making it an ideal spot for bird visitations of all sorts. At certain times of the year, there are eagles, sparrows, chickadees, owls, towhees, robins, woodpeckers and even hummingbirds. It is really quite a spectacular birdfest, which is completely ignored by our dogs. However, crows, for some reason are a different matter as far as they are concerned, for as soon as a crow flies overhead they would bark continuously and give chase, the lieutenant leading the way of course.

I must admit I don’t understand the point of this chase since there is a vertical separation of over one hundred feet between the dogs and the crows. We have a theory that the crows, who can be just as vocal as our dogs, are actually teasing them in some way that our dogs can understand. This would seem to explain the dogs’ selective focus and response to only these birds.

After he’d been with us about a year and a half, Jumpr developed some walking problems. Being part shepperd, hip dysplasia was a possibility, but what seemed to aggravate it were the 8km runs my son and I did with the dogs from his music teacher’s house. Gradually, he could barely walk downstairs in the morning (he slept with Riky in our bedroom) so I’d have to carry him out. His bladder control went too and sometimes in the morning, I’d find him trying to lick up his own urine, trying to make up for the accident he felt responsible for.

Despite all this, his spirits were high. He liked staying outside and sit under the alder trees by the fence at the back of the yard. He’d hobble out to his particular spot and just lie in the tall grass for the entire day and sometimes we’d carry him back when it was time to eat. Gone was the desire to investigate. Gone was the mischief.

Jumpr’s walk continued to deteriorate, but his bladder control came back. Then one day we noticed that his trips to the alders weren’t as awkward and he’d make it back on his own at dinner time. Gradually, the walk got stronger and stronger. Then the rolly-poly bounce came back. Then the ability to run. One day, we were even happy when we caught him trying to dig and escape under the fence.

Jumpr was back and surprisingly, stronger than before! We attribute the recovery to his being strict vegetarian and some form of communion with the grass and alders. It is surprising how diet, rest and seclusion, combined with a supportive environment can create what appear to be miracles.

He seemed to recognize his new strength too. On walks, he’d pull you along relentlessly, always in a hurry to go goodness knows where. In the past, he’d been what people would call a lumbering lumox, crashing into things, stepping on our toes, but now you got in his way at your own risk! Riky, despite his rank as general, regularly got knocked aside with hip-checks that would be the envy of any hockey player. Jumpr would come charging through open doors (and sometimes closed ones), scattering objects and living entities like a bowling ball scatters pins.

His favorite activity seemed to be to steal a cushion and parade it right in front of us, delighting when we’d take it from him and swat him on the head with it. Occasionally, he’d even do his thieving skillfully behind our backs and we’d have to retrieve the cushions from our yard.

Somehow, even though no one can stand this menace, everyone likes him. He is always the first to greet or to play, or even to just sit beside someone of any species (and we have quite a few in our home) to provide a moment of companionship.

The Pig Dog is just a juggernaut of joy.

005 Wedaches

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:29:11 -0800

All anyone has to do is look without prejudice, and the similarities between weddings and funerals become obviously apparent. In fact, the two functions are nearly identical. Both are exorbitantly expensive. Both require all participants to dress in weird and uncomfortable outfits. Both have an abundance of tears, provided sometimes by hired help. Both have parties. And both are a celebration of the end of something. In fact, about the only difference is that in a funeral the center of attention at least enjoys the benefit of not being present.

I refuse to go to weddings or funerals, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t, once upon a time. So what I write here comes from painful experience and not the blissful nonsense that seems to mesmerize most people about these things. Since I have already demonstrated that there really isn’t any significant difference between the two, I will only talk about weddings and what I say can be easily extrapolated to funerals.

I don’t really remember the first wedding I attended, but I do know that it wasn’t my own and that I was forced to go to it by Ranjana because some colleague of hers was the bride. However, I have some recollections of the other weddings I went to.

My badminton doubles partner was getting married. I did not want to go to his wedding, because I had other things to do. However, I was told that they’d like me to take photos there (even though they had hired a photographer, so now I think it may have been a trick), therefore, I felt it was not going to be a complete loss. Besides, Ranjana was pressuring me to go.

The wedding was held at a massive church which was fully packed with what appeared to be most of the city. There was the monotonous procession to bad music down the aisle, the strangely dressed minister’s even stranger utterances, the prefabricated responses of the bride and bridegroom. The exhibition took a very long time. Then they disappeared into a room to sign the register. This took even longer and seeing how the entire congregation was really quite bored, I considerately volunteered to shout out something like “Hey, the honeymoon isn’t supposed to start till later, you know!”, but Ranjana dissuaded me from doing so for some reason.

The reception was even more preponderous (the bride’s family was very wealthy and wanted to demonstrate this fact) and there was a silly process in which we all had to line up to shake the married couples' hands and wish them well. I have no idea why we were supposed to do this. Was it that they were afraid that something bad was going to happen after this fantastic display, that they needed all these good wishes? At any rate, I quickly shot a roll of film and disappeared before getting enmeshed any further.

The wedding of my tennis doubles partner was even more convoluted. He was marrying another tennis player at the club and since we were all good friends, they wanted me to be an usher at their wedding. The only problem was that I didn’t want to go to the wedding. I had no objection to their getting married, but I didn’t see why they had to involve innocent bystanders. However, I was given the speech about how this was such an important day for them and how they really, really wanted me to usher and encountering such pressure, I finally agreed.

Then I found out I had to attend the reception too. This was too much and even the lure of a free vegetarian meal (they were going to prepare special dishes for Ranjana and myself) wasn’t enough because apparently there was dancing at the reception. Dancing is one of those horrible practices that make people sweat, something I refuse to do unless I am properly attired in a sweatsuit. I produced a creative assortment of excuses as to why I couldn’t attend the reception, but the bride-to-be figured out that it was probably the dancing that was bothering me and gave me leave to go before that debacle started. Now I really had run out of options.

The bride’s family had specific details that had to be looked after. For instance, I had to wear a suit and the tie they chose for me. Then, I was told that I was supposed to drive the married couple to the reception after they dressed my car up even sillier than they had dressed me.

In any case, I went dutifully to the church and took my assigned place just inside the front doors and watched the people migrating in. Suddenly, another tennis friend came up to me and emphatically asked with some urgency, “What are you doing?”. I told him that I was ushering. He said I wasn’t supposed to be just standing around looking, but that my job was to take people to their seats. This made no sense to me because it wasn’t like the church was dark as in a cinema hall and these people couldn’t find their own seats!

Another strange matter was that the people the bride invited sat on one side of the church, while those the groom invited sat on the other. Possibly the logic behind this arrangement was to show who had the greater number of gullible friends.

Then I was told that I was supposed ‘offer my arm’ to any females in the party I was escorting. The rationale behind this bit of bizzarity completely eluded me. Why should the female or anyone else for that matter be allowed to possess my arm? What if there were two females or worse what if there were more than two? Obviously, these people hadn’t thought out the logistics properly at all.

The reception was very irritating. It was hard enough sitting in a suit and tie, but it is impossible to concentrate on eating (even a free meal) when people are making ridiculous speeches throughout it extolling each others virtues. In any case, my duty had been done and using the experience gained earlier, I ushered Ranjana and myself right out of there before things got really gruesome.

You’d think I’d learn after these experiences and as you’ll see I did! What could have been the worst was yet to come - my own wedding!

Please understand that there was absolutely no reason why Ranjana and I should have gotten married. She’s been bothering me since she was four so I had already done more time than most people do with a spouse! Furthermore, there was always the ever present threat of The East Indian Wedding. If you thought the other two I related were bad, know that East Indian weddings can go on for 20 days!

So when the parents brought up the “When are you two going to get married?” line, I had to plan my escape. The “I’ve done more time than most people do with a spouse” idea didn’t seem to hold any weight with the parents or Ranjana, so I settled down to research the situation from various perspectives and was confident I would succeed in finding a solution out of my predicament.

Then I made my first and only mistake, ever, in my entire existence!

I had learned that there actually was a benefit to getting married which was that one could claim a tax deduction. Overwhelmed by greed and desperation, in a fit of shortsighted blindness, I agreed to the idea!

When I came to my senses, I could see that there was a thick buzz in the air as the planning had already commenced on how we were going to be married - the announcements, the people, the food, the receptions, it looked hopelessly endless. I can’t even stand a party and this monstrosity was getting bigger and bigger like the Hindenburg being pumped full of hydrogen gas.

They say that when the going gets tough, the tough get going, but I had nowhere to go! I had to think fast!

Then, as if sent from heaven, there was a great spark of intuition!

I suggested that instead of spending all this ‘pomp and fanfare’ on us, who already had everything and even each other (that was really such a nice touch, don’t you think?), why not give all that money to Mother Teresa’s efforts.

Ranjana was delighted by this idea (and of course, I am never going to reveal my real motivations).

How did the parents take it? Oh my god! It was like we had just killed them (and who knows how many ancestors to boot)! After all, you’re not supposed to get married for yourselves right? You’re supposed to get married for your parents! In fact, they were making a phenomenal amount of noise for people who had freshly been killed!

Despite the opposition, I was convinced there was a window of opportunity here and so I pursued it, reinforcing the basic concepts and logically elaborating on their merits. Sometimes, you just have to wear people down.

Ranjana’s parents were the first to concede and not too reluctantly either. They had connections with the Ramakrishna Mission in India and actually felt good about making their contribution to that organization.

My parents though were another story. My mother, in particular, took all this as a personal affront and figured her reputation with the Indian community was going to be permanently destroyed by this rebellious son. My father was afraid of my mother, so it is perhaps a bit unclear what his thoughts really were, but I see no reason to give him any benefit of the doubt. When I used to ask them where I came from I recall being told two possibilities - a supermarket, when they were in a good mood, and a garbage can when they weren’t. It was pretty clear for the next few days what my origins were.

As so often happens when one is engaged in a truly valiant venture such as getting out of going to a party, providence came to my rescue in the form of my uncle of all people (since we rarely associated with him). He appeared out of nowhere and said this was a remarkable thing - the first time anyone in the history of the family, as far as he had researched it, had gotten married wanting to give everything to charity.

Well, that was all it took! My mother suddenly saw the whole thing in a completely different light and even greatly illuminated the viewpoints of the other 3 parents as well as the masses of relatives that would have shown up. I had gone from murderous villain to hero overnight! I think I had even found my way back into that supermarket and may be even a bit further!

A lot of money was raised and I got out of having to go to a party!

Now you might be thinking all was joy and we lived happily ever after. However, you forget that there was still that little nagging matter of a wedding. Yes the reception threat had been eliminated, but there was still the wedding. I couldn’t very well conjure up a charity to intervene on my behalf to solve this dilemma - there are legal issues at stake!

So the first necessary step was to investigate alternatives to a wedding. Partially utilizing the already successful charity argument as leverage, I demonstrated that the best way to not spend money on a wedding was not to have one: therefore, have the deed done by a justice of the peace or a ship’s captain. The latter was impractical since we were on land and the former would cost only $15, a sacrifice I was willing to make, especially since I knew I could get my parents to pay for it - so that they could feel they had met their responsibilities as parents of course! Besides, I knew that since justices of the peace have important things to do, such as getting people to stand up when they come into a courtroom and perching upon a high bench, they simply cannot hang around administering blessings for extended periods of time the way church VIPs do.

Ok so that part was taken care of efficiently! Could I do more? Was there a possibility that I might manage not to attend even this ceremony and still collect my tax deduction? The answer was yes! It would take coercion and courage, but it could be done!

I learned that I could get married by proxy!

Now I had several students who were fearful of me - after all, I was a high school teacher at the time! What indeed could be the point of that occupation if one couldn’t make use of one’s students when the need arose? After a bit of purposeful negotiation, it seemed I managed to convince one of them that it would be greatly to his benefit to serve as my proxy! In fact, as I recall, I didn’t have to employ much coercion. He seemed quite happy to serve this useful role, no doubt because he felt sorry that his noble teacher would have to undergo such an unpleasant experience. I suppose I had indeed brought him up well.

Then came the courage part - telling Ranjana.

Well I certainly had the courage, but I had overlooked another ‘c’ that needed to exist with coercion and courage. That ‘c’ was cooperation. Inexplicably, Ranjana was opposed to having my student be the proxy. I found her attitude most puzzling to say the least! After all, it wasn’t like this fellow was a complete stranger. We’d known him for a year or so and he spent large periods of time at our home as did many of my students. I tried to reason with her with the aforementioned argument and even wrung out the gut-wrenching “but you don’t really want to hurt his feelings, do you?”. It was to no avail though. I can only conclude that she heartlessly wanted me to suffer with her through the ceremony. As the saying goes, misery does indeed enjoy company.

I dutifully showed up beside Ranjana (who even made me wear a suit - though I wasn’t forced to wear a tie) at city hall. The four parents were in tow as well, no doubt to ensure I had no possibility of escape.

Then a glimmer of hope!

It seemed that the municipal government had made a error. Ranjana had been registered as the bridegroom while I was flagged as the bride. However, I watched in astonishment as the clerk corrected the situation within seconds! What ever happened to obligatory bureaucratic inefficiency? Shouldn’t the matter have gone to several committees and taken months to resolve?

Next thing I knew we were standing before the justice of the peace who was typically dressed in one of those black outfits which made one think of penguins. He didn’t wear a white hairpiece, but I was too forlorn to make an issue of it. All I can recall of those blurry moments were his mumbling something and then Ranjana mumbling something in agreement and then I think I mumbled something as well.

Suddenly I was awakened from my stupor with the frightful words I had heard in the movies, “You may now kiss the bride.” What? It was over? That was all there was to this? Elation had found me again!

Instead of following his directive (after all it wasn’t a command you know, because he did say “You may …” and not something like “Do it!”), I proceeded to shake his hand vigorously offering my deepest gratitude. While thus engaged, I turned to Ranjana and said, “He did that so well! We should have him again the next time we do this!”

It was very evident from the incredulous look on his face, that this poor fellow had never before in his entire career, received such a fine compliment!

004 The Old Man

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:28:47 -0800

Kyron’s beginnings were what one might say rather coincidental. He actually tried very hard to arrive on my birthday, October 27. However, his mother, Ranjana wouldn’t let him.

Ranjana wanted a natural birth and enlisted the aid and guidance of not one, but two midwives, Jane and Larry, as well as Kelly, her own medical doctor. Unfortunately, she didn’t listen to anything they said and did her own thing, so one does wonder what the point of having them around really was. On Friday, October 27, she went into labor at home and the midwives arrived full of energy, enthusiasm and good advice. So assisted by them and our first child, Pericles the cockatiel, Ranjana settled down to what was supposed to be a simple process. After all, she had excellent help all around and Kyron was most willing to cooperate.

However, for some mysterious reason Ranjana didn’t seem to execute any of the suggestions given by the midwives to her as the hours went by. Pericles, himself who normally went to bed by 10 pm, courageously stayed with her till 2 am, but then could hold up no longer and started bouncing off the wall (literally), so I put him into his cage and covered it.

After that first night, we thought things would surely wrap up on Saturday. She did still have excellent help, myself, Pericles, the midwives (who were still willing to work with her) and of course, Kyron was still quite eager to come out, though admittedly starting to scratch his head wondering what the delay was. All Saturday went by. Then Saturnight too with Pericles and the wall getting acquainted again at about 2 am.

Very early Sunday morning, it was decided that we would make the trip to the hospital and let the doctor have a go at this. Doing so was not an inviting prospect though, for it was unusually foggy and one really couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond. The driving had to be done understandably with great caution. Then a fascinating thing happened as we rode over a bridge about 3 kilometers from our house. The fog suddenly dissipated and the rays of sunshine shone through lighting our way. I turned to Ranjana and said, “Kyron is coming”. You see, Kyron was named as a conceptual combination of my name Pradip (light) and Ranjana (many colors), for Kyron means many colored rays of light from the sun.

At the hospital, it was more of the same thing, Ranjana in a standoff with the midwives as well as the doctor as the hours rolled on. At one point, Ranjana really felt that this had gone on long enough and that perhaps natural childbirth really wasn’t the way she wanted to do it. The midwives too were thinking that enough was enough. However, in an astonishing move, the medical doctor changed this line of thinking. She said she knew how much Ranjana wanted to have a natural childbirth and that she knew that Ranjana could see it through … just hang on a little longer, you really can do this!

And so, after 40 hours of labor, it finally happened! Kyron emerged!

Not surprisingly, the doctor required my expertise to cut the umbellical cord and I went with the nurse when they took Kyron for the routine tests for I didn’t want them to accidentally mix him up with some other kid which is what I’m certain had happened to me. When we got home, I figured out why this whole process had taken so long. Ranjana was born on September 29. Now, if Kyron had come out on my birthday, she couldn’t very well lay a legitimate claim. So she actually delayed the entire birth two days to October 29, so that at least her birthdate got into the picture. Very devious indeed!

Kyron took things nice and slow. He wasn’t in any hurry to nurse which caused Ranjana considerable aggravation and required her to go to various means of getting him to do so. Nor did he sleep in a particularly uneventful fashion, for he would be moving around all night as though he were constantly travelling to some exotic location or other and we would find him in the strangest corners of his crib.

When he played, he’d sit fascinated by sand and water for hours with no interest in moving to other toys which were lavished on him by both sets of grandparents. He took extreme pleasure in learning to walk going from a crawl, to getting up, taking a step or two, falling down with total glee and repeating this sequence over and over again. This glee followed him right into his running, for even though he could move very fast, he’d burst into laughter during the run and invariably crumple into a giggling heap.

Though he enjoyed the company of his little human friends, it was clear that they were by no means necessary. Anything, a wisp of cloud, the moon, a street, a twig or the caterpillar lounging on it, could become a friend. Sometimes, the play was observation and he’d look at his human friends sitting in a circle engaged in some activity, except he’d be sitting several meters outside the circle, just watching and watching.

Now before you start to think that Kyron was a budding philosopher who liked to laugh a lot, you should know that he also took great pleasure in getting on the nerves of those who deserved it.

So when he was about two years old and we went to the shopping mall with my parents (you know the ones who didn’t follow the nurse in and got me mixed-up with some other kid), he decided he’d go for a stroll. My parents having cultivated paranoia to an art, naturally thought this was the end of their grandson. My mother screamed at my father, who fuming turned to me insisting that I bring him back immediately, recovering the great gulf of 5 meters Kyron had put between us. Kyron figured he’d found a new game, for the further away he went the greater the commotion behind him grew. My father glared at me because apparently I was shrugging my shoulders and saying something to the effect of “What do you want me to do?”. Well, this was just too much and my father feeling he’d have to play his role as the patriarch went after Kyron.

Going after Kyron and catching him even at two are entirely different concepts which my father hadn’t quite reconciled. Therefore, I was left to watch Kyron running around a counter with my father in desperate pursuit. I was sure I would have heard him laughing in his usual gleeful way, but unfortunately, I was forced to listen to my mother, who also didn’t seem to understand why I was still shrugging my shoulders with the “What can I do?” expression on my face.

Anyway, Kyron rounded one counter-corner, then another and then a third and stood beside me obviously elated that he had not been caught. Unfortunately, his grandfather was nowhere to be seen and it was really too much to expect that he’d somehow find his way back to us in his state of mind. My mother, though, didn’t seem too concerned about finding him, since her grandson had come back and would have provided us with a reproachful lecture on parental responsibility had we not left immediately to recover my father, before he really did get lost. We were successful tracking him down, but I will say nought about the celebrations that followed that encounter.

Kyron also very quickly figured out that his mother was a lot of fun. In fact, he realized that she could be a never-ending source of delight. All he had to do to experience this delight was not do what she wanted him to do. One particularly pleasurable event was deciding what to wear. Ranjana has a very well-developed sense of aesthetics - I know this for a fact because she told me so. Having failed completely in educating me regarding clothing decor, she took to setting out my garments for me, which I unfailingly did wear, provided there was not something else within more convenient reach, of course.

Naturally, she was determined to bring up Kyron properly as far as clothing goes and so she bought him the most perfectly matching items sometimes with deep consultation with the saleperson, both relishing in mutual admiration of each other’s undeniable wisdom. Kyron certainly was the most aesthetically dressed young lad up to the age of two or so. After that, he seemed to take quite a liking to things that were tattered or had stains (which he sometimes put on himself demonstrating his own aesthetic capacities) or, and this seemed to give him the greatest pleasure, any combination that his mother found horrifying. Was it not remarkable that his mother could provide such animated merriment by something so simple as wearing a tshirt inside-out!

Ranjana, not being one to give up too easily, tried to instruct Kyron in the finer points of childhood etiquette, which Kyron obviously appreciated for each provided a wonderful source of play. All these attempts concluded in much the same way with Ranjana sternly saying, “I’m not happy with your behavior” which caused Kyron to think solemnly for about 10 seconds and then with continued solemnity ask, “Mommy, are you unhappy with my behavior?” One should not think that this solemnity meant that he was no longer experiencing his pleasure, but it should be noted that he was receiving it from a different source - that of his father trying very hard to suppress his own pleasure.

A memorable moment occurred after a particularly strenuous encounter at the end of which Ranjana skipped the “I’m not happy …” line, jumping right to an imaginatively created exasperation, “When are you going to learn to behave yourself?!!”. Adeptly adapting to the novelty, Kyron, while continuing his business, quickly and calmly answered, “Oh about 4 o’clock”.

Ranjana and Kyron attended the local Waldorf School’s mother-and-tot program together. They both enjoyed it very much, Kyron because he liked to play and Ranjana because she liked the teacher, Patti, who was really very good and quite fond of Kyron and all the other children. Proof of her deep understanding was demonstrated early on when questioned about why Waldorf didn’t try to enhance the ‘giftedness’ that some children seem to show at an early age. She answered that these gifts won’t go away as kids grow older and a child should be allowed to remain a child for as long as he or she wishes to.

The following year Kyron graduated to Waldorf’s nursery school. His teacher there, Carol, used to refer to him as King Kyron, because she found he had this ability to get the other children to often do work that he was supposed to do, such as cleaning up after play, while he took on a supervisory role. She was also the one who told us that she thought there was an old man living inside Kyron.

It seems that the old man had this ongoing experience with existence that seems to elude younger folk as they put increasing years under their chronological belt. When he observed the swirlings of milk in his grandmother’s tea, he would exclaim, “Clouds!”. When drawing, Kyron would never begin from the middle of the paper - it would always be from a corner and proceed dynamically inwards as though in constant motion and exploration. After Ranjana or I read a story to him, he would, at the end of it say, “Again!” perhaps to live out its deeper intricacies several times.

He rarely wanted things even though all the grandparents tried to give him the entire Toys ‘R Us franchise. He never seemed interested in those objects that attempt to divert a child’s investigations into life, beyond taking them apart to see what might be inside: a huge cardboard box offered much more promising adventures! When we tried to buy him things, the response was always “No, I don’t need it” or “No, I have something like it”. I think this is a child’s way of saying don’t clutter up my life.

Perhaps the following portrait best expresses what the old man was up to.

Each morning the kids would go to Waldorf along a breath-taking path that was at least half a kilometer in length. This path led from the parking lot to the school building and was bordered by majestic trees, vibrant plants and beautiful wild flowers. The children of various ages would walk down a sloping hill and then go up another, in a harmonious flow, many of the younger ones accompanied by their parents.

And then, amidst this stream of humanity, one would spot two figures going in various directions, sometimes with the flow, sometimes against it, sometimes across it, sometimes nowhere near it. One was Ranjana following the other, Kyron, who was much too occupied in discovery to be concerned with the bell that was signaling the start of class or that stream of bodies which had accepted its destination.

For the old man and his mother, a stone, a leaf, a butterfly, were all miracles waiting to be found again and again through endless eternities.

003 Irreverence With Sass to Go

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:28:17 -0800

My friend Tricia walks her dogs Buddy and Sadie at the park. These walks are not only good for her dogs, but also good for the other people who are also walking their dogs, because being a dedicated, ethical vegan animal rights activist, she uses every opportunity to bring the plight of animals to the attention of anyone who will listen to her (and even to those who really don’t want to listen to her). As a result, she’s had many a verbal adventure, some of which you can read in her own blook, Tricia Times.

This story is not about one of those verbal adventures. Rather, it is a lesson in the skilful dispensation of information.

A while ago, Tricia met a couple in the dog park. The man was a radiologist which means he specialized in using radiation to diagnose and treat disease as opposed to being someone who spends his time fixing or listening to radios. His wife, on the otherhand, was a talkologist which essentially means she talked a lot. The subject of her attention at this time happened to be herself.

It seems that she was a maker of soaps and lotions that would shame any product that Oil of Olay could produce. In those commercials, the woman uses the catch slogan “How old do you think I am?”, but in this one that Tricia was politely enduring, there was no such question. Instead there was a recurring refrain that played to the following tune “I am 60 and I don’t look it at all, because I make and use my own soap and lotion”. Tricia did agree with her for she estimated her visual age at about 66, but did not offer to discuss these calculations.

The person continued with a dissertation of the importance of getting mammograms and pap smears. When this had finished, Tricia used the lull to reveal that she does not do any of that stuff. She was immediately and severely reprimanded with words to the effect that “When you get to my age, you’ll regret being so reckless” and “You young women should really take your health seriously”. Poor Tricia, what could she say to such well-intentioned advice?

Well, she didn’t really get a chance to say anything, because capitalizing on the elevated position acquired by virtue of being an elder, the woman intended on pursuing her advantage. “How old are you?” came the inevitable and probing question.

Cornered, Tricia had no option but to tell her what she wanted to know. “I’ll be 61 in November” came the reply. This proved to be too much for the radiologist who burst out laughing either because he didn’t believe Tricia or because he was delighted that someone had made the copyright on his wife’s refrain rather invalid.

Still hoping to salvage something, the woman asked Tricia what her birthday was and upon learning it turned to her husband with the indignant words “a sassy and irreverent scorpio” (though she grudgingly admitted she thought Tricia was much younger).

So, since the gates of sass and irreverence had now been opened up, Tricia took the opportunity to tell her two listeners that she was vegan. A vegan avoids using products taken from animals. For example, a vegan will not consume meat, milk or eggs because these items are taken forcibly from sentient beings (nor will a vegan wear leather or fur, of course). The woman appeared to have some idea of what the term meant, for she questioned Tricia as to why she would give up meat for her health, yet not go to doctors for mammograms and pap smears.

Tricia’s answer was that she did not become vegan for health reasons, but because she refused to contribute to the cruelty inflicted by humans upon animals. Perhaps, it was the ancient Greek Plutarch who came to speak through her:

“But for the sake of some little mouthful of flesh, we deprive a soul of the sun and light and of that proportion of life and time it had been born into the world to enjoy.”

She told them that good health was a natural result of being vegan for not only is your conscience clean, your body is free from animal proteins that it just can’t process properly. Echoing the McCartneys' words regarding what people would do if slaughterhouses had glass walls, Tricia added, “If you knew what goes on in factory farms and slaughterhouses, you’d become vegan too”.

It is difficult to argue against this. People can bury their conscience in the deep recesses of their minds, but they cannot eliminate it.

I think Tricia may have helped this lady reach down into those recesses to at least look for that conscience, for she gave Tricia her email address. While I have little doubt that she hopes she may be able to look younger by following Tricia’s vegan example, I also think she longs to regain that time in her youth when kindness and compassion were the spirits that guided her.

002 The Rikster

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:27:27 -0800

Riky the dog goes by a variety of names like Riky-Tiky or Rikle-Tickle-Pickle. He seems to be a black rotweiller-labrador-shepherd cross. This story lends itself best to his identity of being the Rikster.

When we went to get him from the shelter, every dog was trying to get through the gate in their enclosure. It is sad to see the hope in each one’s eyes, knowing that all but one will be disappointed. However, Riky was different, though not indifferent. He simply lay quietly at the front of his space, on his side with his head on the floor, just watching us. There was no jumping, no barking nothing that even hinted at “take me now!”. Nor did he look sad or forlorn. He simply seemed to be willing to let things come as they will. Well it worked. This equanimity seemed to attract my son, Kyron, to him right away and off he went with us.

He was a very good-natured, 8 month old fellow who had apparently been found wandering on a highway by the vet who had her office in our area. She had taken him to the SPCA and was pleasantly surprised when we eventually brought him in to be neutered. Riky seemed to be delighted going with the receptionist who took him into a waiting room for the vet to check him out. She explained it would be a simple procedure and he’d be ready to leave that afternoon.

When we went to pick him up later that day, he had lost his bounce and energy because he was still recovering from the anaesthetic. He almost had to be helped into the car and then out of the car and then into the house. Complicating matters was the protective neck collar to stop him from going after his stitches. He slept most of that day, all through the night and was still sluggish the next morning.

However, during the day he seemed to regain his alertness and with it, the awareness that something was bothering him down below. Now that neck collar is supposed to stop him from probing the sutured area, but it seems the vet staff hadn’t quite calculated on Riky’s flexibility for he was easily able to reach where he should not.

So off came the collar and we tried to reason with him. This process amounted to all of us watching him closely for any effort to move towards the stitching. When from a semi-laying position the hindleg lifted up and the head moved down, we knew that licking and nibbling of the forbidden area was inevitable. The shouts of “No Riky!“and “Stop Riky!” resounded from all corners of the room. Riky initially seemed puzzled by these outbursts - after all, he was only trying to relieve an area that was causing him minor discomfort - but seemed to also enjoy the attention. The problem of course was that it wasn’t possible to watch him continuously, so he knew all he had to do was bide his time and, especially at night, he could get away with his crime.

During the day, he was usually caught which soon led to his deployment of a fascinating strategy. He knew just when we would react and what for, and so followed this sequence. He looked down at his goal. Then he’d look to see if anyone was watching. If the coast seemed pretty clear, the head would move lower and simultaneously the hindleg would move upwards producing an unobstructed path. Slowly … slowly … almost there … “No Riky!” … ooops. The hindleg immediately moved to the lowered head and proceeded to scratch it vigorously, while the face took on a look of innocent bewilderment.

“I am only scratching my head. What’s the big deal? Why is everyone getting after me for that?”

Riky realized that this technique paid big dividends. After all, if he was caught, the head scratching exonerated him and if he wasn’t, well that’s just the shortcoming of the police force. We have to admit that we were unable to find a way to match his resourcefulness.

Despite his antics, Riky’s stitches healed quickly (he is, after all, a strict vegetarian dog), and that resourcefulness has stayed thoughout the years. He enjoyed playing with us, but was also quite happy to play on his own if we were busy. I recall many times, watching him chasing his own tail with unbounded joy at 3am in the morning (when he had to be let out to relieve himself in the middle of the night). He didn’t chase cars. He never tried to run away. He never went anywhere he wasn’t told to. He would not only stay right with us during walks, if some members separated from the main group, he would run back and forth herding everyone together. He could get very excited, but managed to calm down whenever it became necessary. His athletic abilities were quite outstanding and he’d leave all other dogs (except one little whippet who he couldn’t quite catch) at the dogpark, gasping during play.

He was for quite a while the perfect dog.

Yes he was, that is until Jumpr came along … but that is another story.

001 Ranjana in Ottawa

Mon, 10 Jan 2022 20:25:41 -0800

What you must realize is that Ranjana really was not (and is not) what she appears to be! I did not find this out for quite a while even though I had been tormented by her continuously since she was four!

In the nation’s capital, she and her cohorts unleashed a campaign of terror unrivalled even in fiction! Did they to it for ideology? No. For profit. No.

They did it just for fun!

Their first victim was none other than Robert Stanfield leader of the Progressive Conservatives and aspirant to the highest office in the country.

One fine morning the unsuspecting Robert was engaged in his peaceful stroll down the street when he was spotted by Ranjana’s gang. Always needing to maintain the reputation for outrageosity at Elmwood Private School for Girls (deceptive title is it not?), they descended en masse upon the hapless individual, all three of them! They wanted to tell the other seniors at school that they had bumped into Robert Stanfield, so they went and bumped into Robert Stanfield (I have no reports as to whether he was left standing).

No doubt you are aware, the poor man was never quite the same afterwards. He had to give up the leadership of his party. He had to retire from politics altogether. I think he eventually died.

Who next other than the elegant Pierre Trudeau in his prime, married to Margaret and with children! It was too much for Ranjana and her gang to resist. They felt the urge to do something extraordinary. So they tried to invade the home of Pierre and Margaret under the guise of babysitting the children. Can you imagine what might have transpired had the security men guarding the home not stopped them just before these two innocent-acting high-school students had almost convinced the butler and maid that they were here to look after Maggie’s children?

What followed is well documented. Maggie lost her mind and took off with the Rolling Stones. Pierre bravely struggled on for a few more years only to be ousted by none other than Joe ‘who?’ Clark before relinquishing the party leadership (sound familiar)? Then eventually he died too.

Finally (at least I think he was the last, but who am I to know?), Ranjana’s gang went after John Turner! This was so sordid an attempt, so vicious an attack that Ranjana almost did it alone - even her grade 12 colleague felt forced to stand on the sidelines as you will see. Both entered the crowded shopping mall. Ranjana’s partner in crime could not handle the scene though - everyone has a line they do not cross, not for ideology, not for profit, not even for fun. She stood apart watching Ranjana dressed in pajamas, a raincoat and oversized sunglasses pirouette around and around in circles, getting closer and closer to John. Then Ranjana was behind him! He turned around! His eyes fell upon the medusan menace that was confronting him!

As you may well know, it proved to be too much for John. He desperately tried to cling to his sanity going for his party’s leadership. He barely succeeded and only because the delegates were kind to a traumatized man. However, his confidence was shot. He could not hold his composure against the notorious Mulroney. He faltered in the debates, he appeared like a madman on camera, he was scandalized for patting the bottoms of members of his party (even his supportive wife told reporters “He shouldn’t do that. Let me know if he does!”). Lost and bewildered, I fear he too will eventually die [editor: this prediction did come true].

So now you are among the few who this has been revealed to. Not everyone’s mettle is durable enough to know certain things.