Winston and Sebastian’s first day together was filled with anything but warm and fuzzy sentiments. Basically, Winston hated him. Turns out our little pound puppy, we loving called “jig-a butt”, for his over-active personality, actually liked being the only dog. Who knew? So, when Sebastian came to visit that afternoon, Winston acted as if his life was coming to an end. Oh, the tragedy, the injustice—his drama queen persona was in full swing.
When I cracked the car door, Seb wasted no time in getting out. He’d been in that car for almost an hour, eye balling the country side the whole way. His wide eyed expression reminded me that of a compulsive gambler dropped off in Vegas and told he had only an hour to play. He an itch he couldn’t wait to scratch. In fact, once all four of his paws hit the dirt, he shot off like a rocket. He raced past Winston, practically spinning him in place.
Only two seconds into this visit, and already my dog had a look of horror on his face. There was no time for Winston to process what was happening, and the look on his face telegraphed only one thought: How dare this trespasser piss on my trees! And when he turned back to me, his steely glare threatening to set me on fire where I stood. I could see his little brain working on how he was going to fix this obvious problem. His eye’s flashed, and a second later—you guessed it—he frantically raced to mark over Sebastian’s scent, thus initiating a territory war like I’d never seen before or since.
Now normally when a strange dog comes onto another dogs land, the formalities of nose touching and the ever famous butt-sniffing follow. And if there’s to be any serious trash-talk, it will happen in those first few moments. As we all know dogs form opinions quickly, but they also work out their problems and move on just as fast. In this case, Sebastian had broken the number one law—he’d forgotten to recognize the top dog on campus. A travesty punishable by death!
As far as I could tell, Sebastian simply felt he had no time for all the red tape. After all, he wasn’t staying. To Sebastian, this was just a day of fun, nothing more, and he was going to take it for all it was worth. If that meant pissing off the home-dog, then so be it. Time was a wasting!
So as I watched my dog, chasing this eleven month old puppy, trying to get a word in edgewise, I began to imagine how the conversation might sound if we could listen in.
“Hey, hey, buddy,” Winston may have said, in a very Robert De Niro sounding voice of course.
“Groovy place, man,” I imagine would be Seb’s come back because I’ve always felt he’d sound something like Scooby Doo!
And the combination of these two famous movie characters paints the perfect picture—opposite from the start.
“I said, hey, ass hole!” Winston never did have any patience.
While Marc and I watched this strange dance, Seb finally turned, and the two boys were finally face to face. We moved closer. And because Winston is known for not playing nice, I knew his tail wagging didn’t mean all had been forgiven. I had reprimands ready, and sure enough, his ears went back just as I was about to yell his name. To Sebastian, all of this was just another game. He shot off again, completely unaware Winston was bent on doing him harm. As he kicked on the afterburners, he cut a turn on a dime, and headed for the open field. The fact that he was off leash, making a beeline for well over three thousand acres of open forest land, had my heart up in my throat.
What was I thinking, letting him off leash? Marc and I were both screaming as they ran aimlessly in circles. First we tried to get Winston back, and when that didn’t work we went back to Sebastian. Nobody was paying us any mind. And like in the grocery store parking lot, it was the humans versus dogs clown act all over again. What a nightmare. I was upset at my dog for not coming when called as he had no excuse while also ticked at myself for letting this all get so out of control. It was border lining funny, stupid funny, and eventually Marc and I just stopped and watched the show.
After a moment, I realized Seb wasn’t going anywhere. Shoot, he didn’t even know where he was. He was just running in circles, burning off months and months of pent up energy, and giving Winston one heck of workout too. So much so, that eventually, Winston just sat down and gave up. Now, three of us watched as Sebastian raced to jump into a nearby creek. I cringed. Great, Danielle will love that!
Sebastian was having the time of his life. With his tongue hanging completely out his mouth, his mouth was turned up in a smile like some kind of cartoon. Even after all this stress, my heart was light. I sudden realized how much he really needed this day, and how good it felt for me to be able to give it to him. Sure, he was a bit unruly, but that wasn’t his fault. He’d had little training. Simply put, he was a good hearted dog that desperately needed to find his place in the world.
Sebastian’s was lost in a world full of kids and busy human schedules. Inside this American household, operating in high gear, nobody had bothered to consider his needs. He was just “the dog”, expected to blend in. It’s an unfortunate truth that as their human counterparts, we often fail to see what it is that makes our Dog’s tick. We don’t realize they’re pack animals by nature, and living in “our” lives every day does not come easy for them. They have an instinctive way of existing that goes against our nature. WE are their pack. They look to us for their rank, their stability. They need a leader and if we cannot clearly show them who is leading, they will lead. This is where all our problems with obedience start. If the dog is not a natural chief, then leading will produce stress and destructive behavior. But no matter the consequences, they will still try to lead because without a leader, the pack will die and life for them is all about survival.
When to eat, when to sleep, and when to travel. None of this makes sense to us as we often live our lives randomly, and soon we find ourselves disciplining a good dog for habits we’ve created. When what they really need is structure, a desire to be an active part of our family. Once that happens, we’re not living with a stranger in our mist, but rather enjoying a productive family member.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Freedom
It was an unusually warm day when I went to pick up Sebastian for his first “outing”. The sun was shining and the sky was free from the rain clouds one normally expects to see this time of year in the Northwest.
After a few pleasantries, I put Sebastian on a leash and out we went. Or rather out I went as he proceeded to drag me to the car. Clearly “bye-bye” was a word he knew well, and once out the door, he shot off like a Husky rigged up to a sled. I was like a feather thrashing about in a tornado entitled “Sebastian”.
When he stopped at my car, I couldn’t help but wonder how he knew which one was mine. Up till now, we’d never been anywhere together. But without much prodding, he loaded up and we left. As I called my husband to tell him we were headed his way, I was already having second thoughts. With the lunch hour upon us, I offered to pick up a pizza and tried to push back my concerns. Knowing I had a bit of a drive home—thirty minutes or so—I called ahead for a drive through pizza, figuring I’d pick it up along the way. It should have been a simple chore, an in-and-out event. And had I truly been analyzing what was going on in the back seat, I would have realized my unease was warranted.
In the back, Sebastian paced from one window to the other. They were cracked no more than three inches so it was impossible for him to squeeze his big head out, but he tried anyway. Watching, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was as improbable as shoving a square peg in a round hole. After awhile he finally conceded to just sit and sniff the breeze. That pale nose of his was pressed as far through that crack as possible, and his excitement was obvious in the drool that ran down my glass. As I drove, I could feel his tail slapping the back of my seat. It felt good taking Sebastian for some fun, like I was doing something truly humane.
When I pulled in to get the pizza place, I left Sebastian in the car, and went inside to pay. Distracted with that all over good feeling one gets when you know you’re helping a worthy cause, I was completely unaware that pent up excitement was destined to be set free. Because it was so warm, I cracked the windows a bit more, but not too much more—so I thought. Looking back, and even in hindsight, I found it hard to believe that Sebastian could get a shoulder through that gap much less anything else. Satisfied, I smiled to myself and went into collect my food.
As the lady behind the counter prepared my order and took my money, I could hear car’s honking, but didn’t pay it much mind. The traffic in this area was fairly thick. Small town suburbia was anything but quiet, I thought.
Clueless, I was handing over my last dollar when the lady very casually asked, “Isn’t that your dog?”
Because “my” dog Winston was not with me, it took me a moment to realize she was speaking about Sebastian. I paused for about a heartbeat, wondering what the heck she was talking about, while the ruckus still going on outside slowly made sense. It really was a light bulb moment as it felt like everything turned on inside my head at once. I quickly turned, and the first thing I saw was this golden furry butt waddling across the road, headed for the grocery store parking lot across the street!
Now let me tell you, Sebastian never walked anywhere, he trotted and or raced. That’s it! And his gate was really more of a waddle, rear end swaying side to side and those back legs perfectly stiff. He toddled, left-right-left-right, trotting as if his back legs were in splints. It was a real “run-Forest- run” moment, belly swaying opposite those hips. The first time I saw it, I remember wondering if he had hip troubles. And when Marc saw it he asked, “Can dogs be gay?” (That’s my hubby, ready with a joke, politically correct or not.)
So here I am pizza in one hand, and watching in complete horror as Sebastian—head high and tail up—waddles across traffic. Vehicles were slamming on their breaks, honking. I don’t remember if I said anything before I raced out the door, and I can’t tell you what I did with the pizza. I just remember racing, empty handed, out into traffic after Sebastian. My hands were waiving as I warned cars what I was doing. Most of which seemed fully aware as they’d just come to a sudden halt moments before. Of course I’m screaming Sebastian’s name, but he never once flinched. I could have been yelling any name, it didn’t matter.
As he raced down the sidewalk, his face was tilted into the sun. He hesitated only briefly to smell a light pole as he hopped the curb. Though I knew better, he appeared to know exactly where he wanted to go. He pasted confused pedestrians, and each time I’d scream, “Will you grab that dog”, and of course they’d looked at me like- I don’t think so crazy lady. I couldn’t blame them. Sebastian didn’t “look” mean, and Labradors have great reputations, but he was a big boy. He was a large dog on the move, and nobody wanted to reach out and stop seventy plus pounds in full motion.
So onward we went, zigzagging through the grocery store parking lot. At the sound of me screaming his name, over and over again, people were gathering to watch the show. Finally, and I have no idea why, Sebastian finally looked back to me and stopped. I did that stereotypical human hand gesture we all do to our children and animals when we’re serious; I pointed at him in a- you- better- do-what-I-say motion and he sat. He was done.
I remember how Sebastian looked as I approached him, unsure if he was really going to stay or bolt. He was so handsome sitting there with his ears back like a perfect little gentlemen, and nothing but sweetness on his face. It was like he’d just flipped a switch. Hard to imagine that he was the same dog I’d been chasing for the last twenty minutes, and though exhausted and upset, I found it difficult to be mad at him. Especially with him wagging his tail at me like, “wasn’t that fun?” I simply grabbed him by the collar, and in using the protective cross walk this time, we walked safely back to the car.
I lectured him the whole way back. To which he would simply look up to me with those deep brown eyes, tail wagging, and a smile firm on his face. Yup, he smiled; he smiled a lot for a dog. He’d wrinkle up his nose and a crease would form over his cheek bones, as if he were breathing deeply, but with his mouth closed it would look like a smile was on his face. In truth he was probably panting, closed mouthed, but I like how I tell it best. Anyway, I’m sure we looked ridiculous to passing traffic, me muttering to a dog trotting along at my side without a care in the world. At least nobody got hurt, and he’d had fun. “Fun” being what I was soon to learn was Sebastian’s main goal in life. Granted not a bad way to live life, but I wish someone would have told me ahead of time! Sadly, up to this point, I don’t think the humans in his life really knew what made him tick, or what brought him happiness. I got the impression he was used to entertaining himself, and passing up an opportunity for fun was just not an option.
When we got back to the car my cell phone rang. It was Danielle, checking to see if we’d made it home ok. I could only laugh. And after I told her what I’d been doing since I left her house, she laughed. Did I want to bring him back, she offered. Of course I said no. I was not about to let him win!
“He’d never done anything like that before,” she said, and I had a sneaky feeling this was the start of many first for Sebastian.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Love At First Sight.
Sebastian came to me in a round-about-way, an act of fate some might say. It was the fall of 2000. And at the time Marc and I were living in a 9 ½ foot camper on a piece of property we had just bought that spring. Talk about close quarters. At the time we were clearing the land ourselves, and working every free hour of the day, getting ready to break ground for the construction of our dream home—a modest sized log cabin. It was still early in the fall season when Sebastian first stepped into our life. The weather was undecided. A light rain fell, with the periodic sun breaks giving one the allusion that summer was still close though it had passed some months before.
Usually I’m ready for the changing of each season, and fall is one of my favorite. But with the construction looming, I’d been praying for an Indian summer. I wouldn’t have complained if the clear skies had stayed a few more months, allowing us the ability to work till 9:00 in the evening with full light. That didn’t happen, and before I knew it, the evergreen forest around us was bursting with the color of orange and red. The air suddenly turned damp and chilly, often downright cold and it was pitch dark by 5:30 PM. Those days of fleeting sun had vanished. And sitting at a 1000 feet elevation, to boot, we were always 10 degrees cooler than everyone else in town.
Welcome to Yacolt, Washington!
Essentially we were camping in off-and-on crappy weather. Granted we had the basic necessities—we were dry, and we had water and electricity. And if we were lucky—meaning if the stars aligned just right and the rained stopped—by day’s end we might find ourselves sitting around a camp fire, eating whatever I managed to whip up on a very tiny gas camper stove.
When we were not so lucky, we were stuffed in that camper like a can of sardines, trying to co-exist in an area no bigger than our soon-to-be master bedroom closet. We weren’t complaining, yet. We had signed up for this adventure, and expected it to last at least two years. All we could do was brace ourselves and hold on for the ride!
There were three of us living in this tiny space, my husband Marc, our four year old lab-mix Winston and Me. The plan was to live on to the property, work on our dream, together, and hope that by projects end we were still married. We’d heard all the rumors—“Building a house together is the true test of any marriage”. Sure, the idea of spending the winter out in the middle of nowhere was a bit unnerving, but we weren’t completely cut off from the world. We had cell phones with a full bar’s worth of reliable service, and family 15 minutes away. We had a tiny shower made for a small child, and food available in a fridge plugged in at a shed that Marc had constructed a few months prior. It was red-neck camping at best, but we were happy—mostly.
We had met Sebastian a few months prior at my mother’s house, where we’d been living—also in the camper—while we cleared the land. I remember the day well.
Exhausted from the day before, Marc, Winston—who slept in the camper with us—and I were still hibernating when a car pulled up my mother’s gravel drive. Doors opened then slammed. Voices, sounding of a few different ages, excitedly chattered outside the camper. Right away, I recognized the adult woman’s voice to be that of my first cousin Danielle. The higher pitched voices were no doubt that of her motley crew—her kids.
Wondering what had everyone so excited, I peeked through the blinds and saw Casey, Danielle’s husband at the time, cradling a beautiful golden Lab puppy in his arms. My heart skipped at the first sight of Sebastian. Right away, I assessed him to be about 10 or 12 weeks old. A baby! And not just any baby, but my favorite kind…a puppy baby. I couldn’t get dressed fast enough.
Now Danielle is my mother’s sister’s kid, or rather my Aunt Sharon’s daughter. As far as the family history goes its noteworthy for me to say here that my aunt’s two kids—Danielle Michelle as the oldest and Jenny Sue the youngest—and I practically grew up together. Off and on, we lived together as the two sisters were single moms, and stuck together when times were rough. My first cousins felt more like sisters, and though they were both much young then me, we were close.
The passing of time has put distance between us since then, but when we do come together it often feels like old times. The teasing and jostling pick up where it last ended. Reminiscing, I can often be heard griping about all the “kid” things they did to the “teen” me. Like when Jenny broke into my teenage sanctuary and ate all my thought-to-be hidden gum! She always found it, no matter where I hide it. Or, how Danielle always wanted to play with my makeup, whether she was allowed to or not, and or make me sit through her 100th dance routine she’d just made up two seconds ago!
Course, I was constantly accusing them of coming into my room and touching “my things”—usually my treasured Elvis collection—which in turn would get them in trouble, possibly even the dreaded spoon to the behind—pack backs were sweet back then—but through all the complaining and fighting, the love was always there.
After that glimpse of Sebastian, I got dressed quickly. My mind was already doing the math. Halie, Jasmin, and Joey, I thought. Danielle’s family of three had just become four! I smirked. Danielle was a woman who could tell you anything about birthing babies, but a dog was another story. She hadn’t owned many. And try as I might, I could only think of one pup—Cinnamon—and that was back when she was a teen and living at home. If I wasn’t chuckling devilishly, I should have been.
When I walked into my mom’s house the place was all a-buzz with the new arrival. The kids were so excited, each reaching and six tiny hands stroking his fur. I could tell by the easy way the pup handled it all that he was going to be a typical Labrador, easy going and devoted to the end. He merely lay in Casey’s arms, tail barely wagging and his eyelids drowsy from the affection.
For a moment, I wondered if he wasn’t going to just nod off, and then someone said his name. Sebastian it was, but it sounded more like Sha-bastian when Danielle or the kids said it. (To this day she pronounces his name Sha-bastian.) Upon hearing his new name those deep brown eyes rolled up from where his chin was resting on daddy’s arm and he looked at me. The fact that he didn’t bother to waist the energy to rise made me chuckle. I said howdy, cooing more than anything else, and he merely wagged his tail. It was so Sebastian to relish a dose of lazy time, course I didn’t know that then.
My first few thoughts upon meeting Sebastian were mixed. First I wondered if Danielle knew that a three syllable name was not the best to give to a dog. They say keep it short and simple, but the kids had picked it and it wasn’t about to be changed. As it turns out, it was perfect. His rather sophisticated name added a touch of wit to the legacy of the worlds most talented and furry court jester.
My second thought was one filled with annoyance. I couldn’t believe my mother was allowing this new dog in her house when my Winston hadn’t been allowed to put so much as one paw on her carpet since we’d gotten there. In fact, I think I commented on that very fact and was quickly put straight. If I could hold Winston like Casey was holding Sebastian then he was welcome. Winston weighed 65 pounds. When she couldn’t see, I carefully rolled my eyes.
My next reaction to Sebastian was one of my true heart, I wanted to hung him, squeeze him, and cuddle the very breath right out of him. I’d always wanted one just like him, except in the color of chocolate. He was a beautiful color, rich like caramel and silky soft to the touch. I don’t remember if I held him that day, but I do remember listening attentively as my cousin told the story of how she picked him out.
He was the first puppy to come to her, she said, racing faster than all others to get in her lap. Explaining, Casey gently put Sebastian down on to my mother’s carpet—I added the infraction to my growing petition on Winston’s behalf—and I could tell right away that Sebastian was going to be a big boy. He had the longest legs I’d ever seen on a pup his age, and feet that were as big as the palm of my hand. His tail was thick like the grip of baseball bat, a weapon in the making. And he was clumsy, unable to maneuver his tree trunk like body with any kind of grace.
“The breeder said he shouldn’t get more 65 pounds,” Danielle said.
Seated at the kitchen table, I gagged on my beverage. Struggling to catch my breath, I didn’t bother to hide my laughter. In true Danielle style, she ignored me, and again repeated what she’d been told as if to counter act my mocking. When I pointed out that he had those feet to grow into, not a single look of worry washed over her face. She was not about to be deterred. Today was a happy day for her and her family. They had a new baby, and whatever was to be would be, that’s how she saw it, and with that, she scoped up Sebastian and left.
I’d be slacking here if I didn’t tell you, my cousin Danielle could light up a room with her smile alone. Her dimples could charm the devil into knocking on heaven’s door, convinced he just might get in. That day, Sebastian had put a smile on her face like I’d only seen at the birth of her children. All kidding aside, I was truly happy for her and her family.
After she left, I went out to my humble abode, back to “my” dog and my husband. When I walked in, Winston’s face lit up and his nose went right to work. I ignored his look of disgust that I dared to drag such a smell into “his” camper, and instead got busy telling Marc what he’d missed. My husband rolled over from where he’d been napping and listened with interest. I could tell by the way he was smirking that he’d already formed an opinion.
“Well, she’ll be calling you, asking you to take him soon,” he said matter-of-factly before turning his back to me and continuing his nap. I shook my head. No way!
Those first few months passed nicely. Daniele and I spoke several times a week on the phone. It was fun sharing something in common with her, and I enjoyed our conversations about dog food options and questions like whether she “had” to leave the water out all the time—Sebastian drank so much he would regurgitate it all over her house—made me laugh. I gave advice when I could, and shared many after-the-fact chuckles with her. As his puppy antics accumulated, so did the stories and the phone calls. Our long chats during this period were some of our best, and I look back to this time often with fond memories.
My favorite story of all was when she called to say he’d eaten her wedding ring. I’d say he was probably four or five months old at the time, and Danielle had just told the family that she was pregnant—with twins! As you can imagine, I was already doing the math. Danielle’s four, counting Sebastian, was about to become six. And though the babies were still months away, Danielle was already up to her neck in ciaos. Our daily chats now consisted of her talking, and tending to her other three other three children while deal with morning sickness, and also chasing Sebastian. Her sentences were often interrupted by short spurts of cursing.
“Sebastian! That damn dog! Oh, I don’t think I can handle this Tricia! How do you do it? My kids are easier!”
At the time, the family was living in a three bedroom ranch style house. It was a nice neighborhood with a good size back yard—for the kids, but not for a fast growing Sebastian.
The frantic call, I knew was coming, came one afternoon as I was doing something too unimportant to remember now. Her fingers were swelling, she said, so she’d taken her wedding ring off. (Wait for it). I listened intently, already guessing where this was going, as Danielle went on to explain that Sebastian had a habit of sleeping under the bed—barely fitting these days—and she remembers taking her ring off the night before, but come morning it was gone. She feared that she may have accidently knocked it off the night stand in her sleep.
Do I think he could have eaten it? Would a dog eat such a thing? The sound in her voice told me she was just about at her wits end. I took a moment to ponder my response. She had a lot on her plate, what with three kids at home and two in her belly, and a husband that worked well into the evening hours. Add all that up, and add a dog that wasn’t potty trained and was teething. I feared Sebastian had two paws out the front door, and didn’t know it.
First, I tried to sound as if there was still hope, explaining how she may be able to get her ring back. She’d have to watch Sebastian’s potty time, I told her, and at the mere mention of dog poop, I could almost hear her gagging on the phone.
“I’m pregnant, Tricia!” She grumbled.
I had no other advice for her, other than taking him to the vet and that route seemed expensive and uncalled for. She asked if I’d come and check his poop for her, to which I openly laughed. I love you, but I don’t dig through dog poop!
“Get Casey to do it,” I said, as that sounded like a man’s job to me anyway. Needless to say, the ring was never found.
As our conversations continued, we talked a bit more about why Sebastian’s was acting out. We discussed the idea that his bad behavior was probably a case of him being bored and needing more exercise.
“Labs are busy dogs, they need a job,” I explained. I understood there wasn’t much she could do alone so I offered to help. (Did you see that coming?)
Something had to change. Up to this point, Sebastian was breaking free and racing around the neighborhood. The heartbreak of having to tell the kids that he gotten hit or was lost played over in all of our minds. And since Marc and I were now living out on six plus acres, it seemed only humane that I come and get him from time to time. So, in a few spoken words, I became an official doggy sitter.
With Marc’s predictions still fresh in my mind, it was agreed that I’d pick Sebastian up that next morning and dropped him off that night. I admit the writing was on the wall, but I was firm in my denial. I really didn’t want the added responsibility of a new dog. We were already cramped, and Winston was fully trained, no mess no fuss. I was determined to help, to do whatever was needed to keep Sebastian with Danielle and those kids.
So it was in the winter of 2000 that I loaded Sebastian up in my car for the first time and headed for play land. Unknowingly it was to be just one of many adventures we’d share together—done Sebastian style.
Usually I’m ready for the changing of each season, and fall is one of my favorite. But with the construction looming, I’d been praying for an Indian summer. I wouldn’t have complained if the clear skies had stayed a few more months, allowing us the ability to work till 9:00 in the evening with full light. That didn’t happen, and before I knew it, the evergreen forest around us was bursting with the color of orange and red. The air suddenly turned damp and chilly, often downright cold and it was pitch dark by 5:30 PM. Those days of fleeting sun had vanished. And sitting at a 1000 feet elevation, to boot, we were always 10 degrees cooler than everyone else in town.
Welcome to Yacolt, Washington!
Essentially we were camping in off-and-on crappy weather. Granted we had the basic necessities—we were dry, and we had water and electricity. And if we were lucky—meaning if the stars aligned just right and the rained stopped—by day’s end we might find ourselves sitting around a camp fire, eating whatever I managed to whip up on a very tiny gas camper stove.
When we were not so lucky, we were stuffed in that camper like a can of sardines, trying to co-exist in an area no bigger than our soon-to-be master bedroom closet. We weren’t complaining, yet. We had signed up for this adventure, and expected it to last at least two years. All we could do was brace ourselves and hold on for the ride!
There were three of us living in this tiny space, my husband Marc, our four year old lab-mix Winston and Me. The plan was to live on to the property, work on our dream, together, and hope that by projects end we were still married. We’d heard all the rumors—“Building a house together is the true test of any marriage”. Sure, the idea of spending the winter out in the middle of nowhere was a bit unnerving, but we weren’t completely cut off from the world. We had cell phones with a full bar’s worth of reliable service, and family 15 minutes away. We had a tiny shower made for a small child, and food available in a fridge plugged in at a shed that Marc had constructed a few months prior. It was red-neck camping at best, but we were happy—mostly.
We had met Sebastian a few months prior at my mother’s house, where we’d been living—also in the camper—while we cleared the land. I remember the day well.
Exhausted from the day before, Marc, Winston—who slept in the camper with us—and I were still hibernating when a car pulled up my mother’s gravel drive. Doors opened then slammed. Voices, sounding of a few different ages, excitedly chattered outside the camper. Right away, I recognized the adult woman’s voice to be that of my first cousin Danielle. The higher pitched voices were no doubt that of her motley crew—her kids.
Wondering what had everyone so excited, I peeked through the blinds and saw Casey, Danielle’s husband at the time, cradling a beautiful golden Lab puppy in his arms. My heart skipped at the first sight of Sebastian. Right away, I assessed him to be about 10 or 12 weeks old. A baby! And not just any baby, but my favorite kind…a puppy baby. I couldn’t get dressed fast enough.
Now Danielle is my mother’s sister’s kid, or rather my Aunt Sharon’s daughter. As far as the family history goes its noteworthy for me to say here that my aunt’s two kids—Danielle Michelle as the oldest and Jenny Sue the youngest—and I practically grew up together. Off and on, we lived together as the two sisters were single moms, and stuck together when times were rough. My first cousins felt more like sisters, and though they were both much young then me, we were close.
The passing of time has put distance between us since then, but when we do come together it often feels like old times. The teasing and jostling pick up where it last ended. Reminiscing, I can often be heard griping about all the “kid” things they did to the “teen” me. Like when Jenny broke into my teenage sanctuary and ate all my thought-to-be hidden gum! She always found it, no matter where I hide it. Or, how Danielle always wanted to play with my makeup, whether she was allowed to or not, and or make me sit through her 100th dance routine she’d just made up two seconds ago!
Course, I was constantly accusing them of coming into my room and touching “my things”—usually my treasured Elvis collection—which in turn would get them in trouble, possibly even the dreaded spoon to the behind—pack backs were sweet back then—but through all the complaining and fighting, the love was always there.
After that glimpse of Sebastian, I got dressed quickly. My mind was already doing the math. Halie, Jasmin, and Joey, I thought. Danielle’s family of three had just become four! I smirked. Danielle was a woman who could tell you anything about birthing babies, but a dog was another story. She hadn’t owned many. And try as I might, I could only think of one pup—Cinnamon—and that was back when she was a teen and living at home. If I wasn’t chuckling devilishly, I should have been.
When I walked into my mom’s house the place was all a-buzz with the new arrival. The kids were so excited, each reaching and six tiny hands stroking his fur. I could tell by the easy way the pup handled it all that he was going to be a typical Labrador, easy going and devoted to the end. He merely lay in Casey’s arms, tail barely wagging and his eyelids drowsy from the affection.
For a moment, I wondered if he wasn’t going to just nod off, and then someone said his name. Sebastian it was, but it sounded more like Sha-bastian when Danielle or the kids said it. (To this day she pronounces his name Sha-bastian.) Upon hearing his new name those deep brown eyes rolled up from where his chin was resting on daddy’s arm and he looked at me. The fact that he didn’t bother to waist the energy to rise made me chuckle. I said howdy, cooing more than anything else, and he merely wagged his tail. It was so Sebastian to relish a dose of lazy time, course I didn’t know that then.
My first few thoughts upon meeting Sebastian were mixed. First I wondered if Danielle knew that a three syllable name was not the best to give to a dog. They say keep it short and simple, but the kids had picked it and it wasn’t about to be changed. As it turns out, it was perfect. His rather sophisticated name added a touch of wit to the legacy of the worlds most talented and furry court jester.
My second thought was one filled with annoyance. I couldn’t believe my mother was allowing this new dog in her house when my Winston hadn’t been allowed to put so much as one paw on her carpet since we’d gotten there. In fact, I think I commented on that very fact and was quickly put straight. If I could hold Winston like Casey was holding Sebastian then he was welcome. Winston weighed 65 pounds. When she couldn’t see, I carefully rolled my eyes.
My next reaction to Sebastian was one of my true heart, I wanted to hung him, squeeze him, and cuddle the very breath right out of him. I’d always wanted one just like him, except in the color of chocolate. He was a beautiful color, rich like caramel and silky soft to the touch. I don’t remember if I held him that day, but I do remember listening attentively as my cousin told the story of how she picked him out.
He was the first puppy to come to her, she said, racing faster than all others to get in her lap. Explaining, Casey gently put Sebastian down on to my mother’s carpet—I added the infraction to my growing petition on Winston’s behalf—and I could tell right away that Sebastian was going to be a big boy. He had the longest legs I’d ever seen on a pup his age, and feet that were as big as the palm of my hand. His tail was thick like the grip of baseball bat, a weapon in the making. And he was clumsy, unable to maneuver his tree trunk like body with any kind of grace.
“The breeder said he shouldn’t get more 65 pounds,” Danielle said.
Seated at the kitchen table, I gagged on my beverage. Struggling to catch my breath, I didn’t bother to hide my laughter. In true Danielle style, she ignored me, and again repeated what she’d been told as if to counter act my mocking. When I pointed out that he had those feet to grow into, not a single look of worry washed over her face. She was not about to be deterred. Today was a happy day for her and her family. They had a new baby, and whatever was to be would be, that’s how she saw it, and with that, she scoped up Sebastian and left.
I’d be slacking here if I didn’t tell you, my cousin Danielle could light up a room with her smile alone. Her dimples could charm the devil into knocking on heaven’s door, convinced he just might get in. That day, Sebastian had put a smile on her face like I’d only seen at the birth of her children. All kidding aside, I was truly happy for her and her family.
After she left, I went out to my humble abode, back to “my” dog and my husband. When I walked in, Winston’s face lit up and his nose went right to work. I ignored his look of disgust that I dared to drag such a smell into “his” camper, and instead got busy telling Marc what he’d missed. My husband rolled over from where he’d been napping and listened with interest. I could tell by the way he was smirking that he’d already formed an opinion.
“Well, she’ll be calling you, asking you to take him soon,” he said matter-of-factly before turning his back to me and continuing his nap. I shook my head. No way!
Those first few months passed nicely. Daniele and I spoke several times a week on the phone. It was fun sharing something in common with her, and I enjoyed our conversations about dog food options and questions like whether she “had” to leave the water out all the time—Sebastian drank so much he would regurgitate it all over her house—made me laugh. I gave advice when I could, and shared many after-the-fact chuckles with her. As his puppy antics accumulated, so did the stories and the phone calls. Our long chats during this period were some of our best, and I look back to this time often with fond memories.
My favorite story of all was when she called to say he’d eaten her wedding ring. I’d say he was probably four or five months old at the time, and Danielle had just told the family that she was pregnant—with twins! As you can imagine, I was already doing the math. Danielle’s four, counting Sebastian, was about to become six. And though the babies were still months away, Danielle was already up to her neck in ciaos. Our daily chats now consisted of her talking, and tending to her other three other three children while deal with morning sickness, and also chasing Sebastian. Her sentences were often interrupted by short spurts of cursing.
“Sebastian! That damn dog! Oh, I don’t think I can handle this Tricia! How do you do it? My kids are easier!”
At the time, the family was living in a three bedroom ranch style house. It was a nice neighborhood with a good size back yard—for the kids, but not for a fast growing Sebastian.
The frantic call, I knew was coming, came one afternoon as I was doing something too unimportant to remember now. Her fingers were swelling, she said, so she’d taken her wedding ring off. (Wait for it). I listened intently, already guessing where this was going, as Danielle went on to explain that Sebastian had a habit of sleeping under the bed—barely fitting these days—and she remembers taking her ring off the night before, but come morning it was gone. She feared that she may have accidently knocked it off the night stand in her sleep.
Do I think he could have eaten it? Would a dog eat such a thing? The sound in her voice told me she was just about at her wits end. I took a moment to ponder my response. She had a lot on her plate, what with three kids at home and two in her belly, and a husband that worked well into the evening hours. Add all that up, and add a dog that wasn’t potty trained and was teething. I feared Sebastian had two paws out the front door, and didn’t know it.
First, I tried to sound as if there was still hope, explaining how she may be able to get her ring back. She’d have to watch Sebastian’s potty time, I told her, and at the mere mention of dog poop, I could almost hear her gagging on the phone.
“I’m pregnant, Tricia!” She grumbled.
I had no other advice for her, other than taking him to the vet and that route seemed expensive and uncalled for. She asked if I’d come and check his poop for her, to which I openly laughed. I love you, but I don’t dig through dog poop!
“Get Casey to do it,” I said, as that sounded like a man’s job to me anyway. Needless to say, the ring was never found.
As our conversations continued, we talked a bit more about why Sebastian’s was acting out. We discussed the idea that his bad behavior was probably a case of him being bored and needing more exercise.
“Labs are busy dogs, they need a job,” I explained. I understood there wasn’t much she could do alone so I offered to help. (Did you see that coming?)
Something had to change. Up to this point, Sebastian was breaking free and racing around the neighborhood. The heartbreak of having to tell the kids that he gotten hit or was lost played over in all of our minds. And since Marc and I were now living out on six plus acres, it seemed only humane that I come and get him from time to time. So, in a few spoken words, I became an official doggy sitter.
With Marc’s predictions still fresh in my mind, it was agreed that I’d pick Sebastian up that next morning and dropped him off that night. I admit the writing was on the wall, but I was firm in my denial. I really didn’t want the added responsibility of a new dog. We were already cramped, and Winston was fully trained, no mess no fuss. I was determined to help, to do whatever was needed to keep Sebastian with Danielle and those kids.
So it was in the winter of 2000 that I loaded Sebastian up in my car for the first time and headed for play land. Unknowingly it was to be just one of many adventures we’d share together—done Sebastian style.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Introduction
Living in the greater North West region of this country one gets used to hearing words like “tree hugger” and or “naturalist” , all describing a group of people who—how should I put it—don’t use deodorant. Well, no matter the stereotype, it is true that we love to wave our environmental causes here in the Pacific North West. And who wouldn’t be a tad overzealous when living in God’s country? (I can hear Montana residence moaning from here. Ok, Ok, I’ve been there, I’ve seen it, and yes you are magnificent! Now back to us!) One has only to drive down any Oregon/Washington freeway to catch sight of the majestic Cascade Mountain range circling us—Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, Mt. Adams, Mt Rainier to name a few. All topped with a white powdery snow, they’re like a great fortress, shielding us from the rest of the world.
Who are we hiding from? I’d say Californian, but they discovered our hidden secrets long ago. They’ve been coming over the grapevine pass in droves, and I can’t blame them. After all, they have smog, and we have crystal clean, rarely clear, skies. They’re overcrowded and real land—acreage—is virtually nonexistent and unaffordable. Shoot, they even voted in the Terminator as governor. As far as I can tell, the smog must have fogged all their minds!
“I’ll be back”. No, they won’t! They’re here in the North West to stay.
Basically, when the awesome wonder of nature surrounds you, seemingly greeting you every morning, it’s easy to understand why the locals here are so passionate about protecting Mother Nature. Now, it would be wrong for me to lead everyone to believe that all of us living in the North West are outdoor lovers, but I personally don’t know many natives that aren’t on some small level. Even if they’re idea of getting in touch with nature requires a 50 thousand dollar sail boat to be used on the Columbian River Gorge. They’re still out there! But with all of natures finest enjoyments just an hour and half’s drive, east or west from Portland, Oregon, and the Southern Washington area, it’s unlikely that anyone moved here for the shopping. (I regress.) That’s not to say that the quaint businesses in the Pearl district downtown wouldn’t beg to differ, and they’d have a legitimate argument. But that’s another story meant for another blog.
This blog is really about a dog. Hard to tell? It’s about my dog Sebastian, or as we all liked to call him, Dobie-Dog. To begin to understand Sebastian, and enjoy his quirky ways, it seems fitting for me to explain where Sebastian came from, because just like people, a dog’s personality is shaped by their environment and early experiences. And I’m sure you’ve already guessed, but let me just say, officially, that this blog is about another human who after the passing of her most trusted companion, some two months ago, simply just can’t let him go.
Now here’s where you may choose to stop reading, but I hope that you don’t. Sebastian truly was worth knowing, and in the end, just like in his life, he was so brave. He taught me more than I could ever hope to learn on my own. In fact, his life’s journey was so full of enlightenment, that I hope in by sharing them with you all, I will find strength to heal. I guess I won’t know until the blogs end, whether I’ve come away with my whole heart. We’ll have to wait and see as this is just the beginning.
Who are we hiding from? I’d say Californian, but they discovered our hidden secrets long ago. They’ve been coming over the grapevine pass in droves, and I can’t blame them. After all, they have smog, and we have crystal clean, rarely clear, skies. They’re overcrowded and real land—acreage—is virtually nonexistent and unaffordable. Shoot, they even voted in the Terminator as governor. As far as I can tell, the smog must have fogged all their minds!
“I’ll be back”. No, they won’t! They’re here in the North West to stay.
Basically, when the awesome wonder of nature surrounds you, seemingly greeting you every morning, it’s easy to understand why the locals here are so passionate about protecting Mother Nature. Now, it would be wrong for me to lead everyone to believe that all of us living in the North West are outdoor lovers, but I personally don’t know many natives that aren’t on some small level. Even if they’re idea of getting in touch with nature requires a 50 thousand dollar sail boat to be used on the Columbian River Gorge. They’re still out there! But with all of natures finest enjoyments just an hour and half’s drive, east or west from Portland, Oregon, and the Southern Washington area, it’s unlikely that anyone moved here for the shopping. (I regress.) That’s not to say that the quaint businesses in the Pearl district downtown wouldn’t beg to differ, and they’d have a legitimate argument. But that’s another story meant for another blog.
This blog is really about a dog. Hard to tell? It’s about my dog Sebastian, or as we all liked to call him, Dobie-Dog. To begin to understand Sebastian, and enjoy his quirky ways, it seems fitting for me to explain where Sebastian came from, because just like people, a dog’s personality is shaped by their environment and early experiences. And I’m sure you’ve already guessed, but let me just say, officially, that this blog is about another human who after the passing of her most trusted companion, some two months ago, simply just can’t let him go.
Now here’s where you may choose to stop reading, but I hope that you don’t. Sebastian truly was worth knowing, and in the end, just like in his life, he was so brave. He taught me more than I could ever hope to learn on my own. In fact, his life’s journey was so full of enlightenment, that I hope in by sharing them with you all, I will find strength to heal. I guess I won’t know until the blogs end, whether I’ve come away with my whole heart. We’ll have to wait and see as this is just the beginning.
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