THE ROCK: Chapter 7 Continued

Til the Last Ember

September 2009

We were on the Rails-to-Trails from Pittsburgh to DC on the second stretch known as the C & O canal.  The Canine Cancer Caucus event was upcoming and Hudson and Murphy and I had some blazing to do.  Earlier in the day, a storm descended down on us, it was light and non-electrical, and I decided to press ahead though much to the consternation of the fuzzybutts.  

The rain abated and we made it to the next campsite on the towpath.  There is so much truth in the old saying that fire warms the traveler's soul but it did much more for us that night.  Temperatures had dropped precipitously  throughout the day and by the time we made camp, the three of us were shivering wet.  

With the sun still unset and the boys snuggled up inside the tent, I gathered what dry wood and kindling I could.  Over a thousand miles into the walk I was an old salt at starting fires in all sorts of conditions and it didn't take long before the flames flickered and my body warmed.  

But with the rainstorm, it was slim pickings and I couldn't find enough dry tree branches and twigs for the fire to reach the maximum combustion point, the point at which all wood burns.  So the warmth was brief and it seemed to die out as quickly as it started.  But I was so cold that I couldn't leave its side.  

--------

January 2006

The week after Malcolm was given rest was an unexpected surprise. I felt very little sadness and loss inside me and  I remember saying to myself, "Luke, you're doing so good, man."   I was preoccupied with planning his wake with some of the friends and neighbors that helped out in the last months of his life.  And I spared no expense in forethought and detail as it was to be a grand celebration. 

But unlike a traditional Irish wake, there was no keening at all.  Just joy and laughter and story after story of a great soul.  The 'Jumping Armadillo' was one of them.  As the hypertrophic osteopathy worsened, it was harder and harder for Malcolm to move about but I would take him out in the evenings to sit in the grass and savor the outdoors that he had all of his life.  

One evening, he and I heard some rustling in my father's juniper bushes.  He couldn't get up and investigate so I did.  As I pulled apart the blue-berried shrub a freaking armadillo leaped up at me, like four feet high, almost kissing my nose and I squealed like a school girl.  That in turn, got Malcolm up and on his three legs and over to me.  To defend me or eat the armadillo I'll never know.

As the wake wound down, we laughed and drank and toasted until dawn and then a darkness descended upon me, swiftly and mercilessly.  

--------

You see, I had loved Malcolm as a father loves his son and when he was gone, the great fire I felt for him, for life, was extinguished.  

I didn't... I didn't know that people could suffer so deeply and for so long.  

--------

YBD's Notes 1:  Next week begins Chapter 8:  The Bottomland.  

YBD's Notes 2: Thank you to all of our friends that were so kind and generous with their love and support in this chapter of our story.  

Bluebonnet Spring

The fabulous fuzzybutts and I are in the Nutmeg State now prepping for our taste testing Saturday and this morning we took our constitutional through the neighborhood we're staying at down to Clinton Town Beach.  

The purple or tulip, as they refer to them up here, magnolias are all abloom as are the weeping cherry trees, dogwoods, lilacs, flowering crabapples, and flora I have yet to discover. I have to stop and catch my breath from the beauty of it all at times and I often wonder if the people up here truly get the gift from god they've been given.  

When you walk south to north, as we did on our cross country trek, you're chasing spring and everything opens up all around you for weeks and weeks.  It's magical really and one of our most memorable experiences was walking on the old Boston Post road or route 1 along the coastline of New England.  And though I love fall just as equally to follow it, you'd have to walk from north to south.  

Sometimes I wish I could take a projector to my brain and broadcast it for you.  I try to write that way but words often fail to capture the glory and grace of life.  

But I couldn't help this morning, amidst all this splendor, missing the bluebonnet fields of my native state.  They stretch for miles and miles and it's as if time stops in Texas when they bloom.  Whenever I'm longing for my family and the place I grew up, I listen to Gulf Coast Highway, a duet between Emmy Lou Harris and Willie Nelson.   It's a simple song about love and life and one that I sang to Malcolm the day he was given rest.  

--------

YBD's Notes:  I'd love to share the song with you but the insidious industrial music studio oligopoly in this country doesn't believe in beauty without a steep price and youtube removed it from my second memorial to Malcolm.  The more tragic aspect of it was it was removed after we walked through the Nashville area and spent an afternoon with Emmy Lou at her dog rescue, Bonaparte's Retreat.  She does great work there and her rescue is named after her roadie dog she lost to cancer.  Please don't contact her in protest - she had nothing to do with it.  Studios screw everyone, even artists.  My apologies for including this in today's blog but I must.

THE ROCK: Chapter 7

Painted Pink

Once Malcolm's cancer had spread to his lungs and been given a death sentence, I packed up my belongings in Boston and moved back to Texas to be with family.  

--------

I remember driving the boys back home.  It was on the BQE, crossing the East River, that I considered it for the first time.  Malcolm was coughing incessantly and I was inconsolable.  A flick of the wrist, the steering wheel turns, and it would all be over.  

I had never considered suicide as an option for life's travails before, it seemed so counter productive, but I couldn't imagine a life without Malcolm either.  

--------

But I could no more give up on him as he never did me.  

--------

I came up with a saying to get us through the hard days when Malcolm could barely make it out the door for our daily constitutional. "We don't give up.  We don't give in.  Until the end, my friend."  

Every day I uttered those words to Malcolm, in part for him, in part for me.  

--------

When you bear witness to a loved one dying before your eyes, it crystallizes your constitution.  Malcolm went down hard and I went down hard with him.  

--------

January 11, 2006

It wasn't the bone cancer that took him down.  Not directly anyway.  It was hypertrophic osteopathy.  Malcolm was in congestive heart failure because his lung tumor had grown so large that it forced fluid in his hind legs rendering them useless.   

I had made the conscious decision the day before to take Malcolm off his pain meds to better assess his condition.  In poker, it's called forcing a hand. 

When Malcolm could barely even walk, my hand was forced, the decision predetermined.  No one should have to make the call to kill our kids.  Even in an act of kindness.  It's not the correct order of things.  

But on this day, I took Malcolm to Dr. Gosney's clinic and held him as he died in my arms.  

After his lifeless body slumped, I couldn't help but wonder why the substance in the syringe that took his life was colored pink.  And who was the person that chose that color?  

Chef Big Dog

I come from a family of great cooks... on my mom's side anyway.  Her sister, Betty, and brother, Jamie, both have exceptional culinary skills and in their own right, could've been successful restaurateurs.   It makes me proud to announce, on Mother's Day, the launching of my culinary venture, Tex-Mex Tatties by Chef Big Dog.  

The evolution of this is in of itself an interesting and quite unexpected journey.  

I was early into the walk, in Texarkana to be precise, staying with a very warm and gracious family, the Lawrences.  They were hosting a meet and greet for some friends and neighbors and I offered to help out by making tapas.  As I walked by the living area, I overheard two guests talking one of which made the observation, "You know for a homeless guy, that guy can cook".  

And thus the idea for the homeless chef was born.  I loved cooking for the families I stayed with on the walk.    Entering a kitchen for the first time, looking in the pantry and fridge and then coming up with a meal concept on the fly.  It was my way of thanking them for putting us up and putting up with us plus it served a dual purpose of eating great Tex-Mex because once you leave my native state, the chances of finding authentic cuisine diminishes every mile.  

The problem was no one liked the homeless chef moniker even though it was kinda true and, I thought, ironical.  In the finale of Chapter 6 of the Rock I wrote about cooking for Malcolm and that's when I learned a love for it.  And discovered I had some native skills, too, albeit thoroughly unrefined.  

It was throughout the walk that I honed my recipes and techniques although I had no idea for what purpose at the time other than cooking up some fine food for the great people I met on the road.  After the final mile in Boston, we kicked around the idea of publishing a cookbook on recipes from the road but Murphy's care was my priority and I was already working on the book about the walk.    

But the question of 'What comes next?' is never an easy answer for a person like me.  I was blessed with a hyper-creative mind and on most days I'm inundated with an almost intolerable amount of ideas and I'm notorious for calling and texting my close confidantes at all hours when I'm climbing walls.  

It was outta nowhere that the concept for Tex-Mex Tatties came to me.  From many months now, I've been focused on walking across Japan as part of a longer-term plan and I'd been thinking about a way to finance it.  Get a table at a farmer's market, I thought, and make tapas to keep it simple since I have a ton of other projects on my plate.  

I'm a dunderhead and a tad self-deluded to think I can keep anything I do small and easy because if I'm going to devote my time to something I always start out with the intent to do something special.  I'm just bent that way. 

Valerie Kodman, my partner in this venture, and I have been working tirelessly on launching this concept since all of this happened so suddenly and we're almost ready to take it live to a farmer's market here in the Newport RI area.  I've been refining the menu and this Saturday, we're having a final Beta taste testing at her place in Madison CT.  

If you're in the area, you're welcome to join us for this historic occasion.  Just email Valerie at chef@chefbigdog.com  

For more info, we have a page on Tumblr. But I'll also be posting here until we're fully up and running.  

If you read the finale of Chapter 6, Chef Biatch became The Homeless Chef who became Chef Big Dog.  Life is a funny thing isn't it?  

To Mom

You'll never read this because Alzheimer's took you away.  You'll never know that I became who I am in big part because of you. You'll never be proud of me for the righteous man I've become because you don't even know my name anymore.

--------

But I do the things I do for you, mom.  You'll always be god's grace and glory to me. Dad never understood why I walked cross country for canine cancer not for your affliction.  But like a dutiful father, he supported us.  You made dad a great man. You made all of your sons great men.  As Lincoln said, you're the better angels of ourselves.  I miss you mom.

--------

Happy Mother's Day

THE ROCK: Chapter 6 Finale

PAS DE DEUX

--------

Pas de deux – noun.  Fr.  An intricate relationship between two things.  A dance.

--------

It didn't take long for Malcolm and I to figure out how to make it down the slippery, wooden winding steps of our new home in Somerville and learn how to navigate the virgin seas together.   

Years earlier when I had an office at the Tech Center in San Antonio at nights and weekends I'd bring him and Murphy up to my second story suite.  There was a red-railed concrete balcony all of 10 square feet or so off the west side our office overlooking Fredericksburg road that became his realm.  

Malcolm would sit outside upright for hours, with a quiet and content stoicism that fascinated me.  Had his soul been incarnate, he would have been a philosopher king.  Some people say we anthropomorphize our dogs too much.  I say not enough.  

--------

Malcolm's spirit was unconquerable and indomitable.  With crystal clarity I recall a crisp Autumn New England morning.  I was sitting on our porch drinking coffee and reading the Wall Street Journal.  Murphy was tethered to a baluster but Malcolm wasn't.  Where the hell would a three legged dog go I thought to myself.  

I had just nestled myself into the rocking chair and hadn't even gotten to section B before Malcolm jumped up, cleared the stairs, crossed the street to a neighbor's Sycamore, and treed a squirrel.  Coffee spewed all over me and the journal strewn all over the porch, down and outright amazed, half-crazed and scared, I couldn't stop laughing.  I couldn't help myself.  

It was the first time I laughed in a complete and innocent way since April 2004 and it would be the last that year.  Despite amputation and chemo, cancer ultimately spread to Malcolm's lungs.  One morning, he just couldn't get up.  An emergency trip to Angell-Memorial revealed that he had a grapefruit sized mass in his lungs.  

Bone cancer is just an awfully damn aggressive form and by the time dogs become symptomatic, it's most likely already spread, the lungs the most likely place.

--------

The thing I had the hardest time with, I mean other than the fact that we'd just been given a big stop clock, four to six weeks they said, was that Malcolm stopped eating.  And he was a passionate eater, too. 

I added dog gravy on his kibble, cheese sprinkles, and all of the other tricks and incentives I read about but they just didn't work.  So I put my apron on, got in the kitchen and started making food for Malcolm.  At first it was ground beef and brown rice but I quickly expanded his menu to include chicken and steak.  Hell, he ate better than I did.  

And he snarfed it all up.  And that gave me pleasure.  I found that the kitchen became my only sanctuary, where I was free of stress, anxiety, and sadness.  I was feeding my boy and filling him full with my love.  But it wasn't long before I became his chef biatch.  He'd look at me with those eyes that said, 'Go make me a sammich'.  

--------

And I would.  You see, love is a dance where one leads and the other follows.  It's an intricate mystery that defies logic and understanding. And yet it is.  

--------

YBD's Notes 1:  I'm forever indebted to the folks at NEVOG, Angell-Memorial, and Dr. John Berg and Shelly Rodman at Tuft's Vet School who gave me counsel, consolation, and hope during a very hard time.  

YBD's Notes 2:  I've been working on a big project and this Sunday, I'll post about it here.  

THE ROCK: Chapter 6 Continued

It was the summer of 2004 when I really learned how to love and hate.

After Malcolm's leg was dissected and Anna left us, I had to find a new place to live.  I didn't have any friends or family in Boston at the time as we were only there less than six months when I got the diagnosis.   It's not easy to find a place to live in the Boston area with two big dogs.  

I was all alone.

--------

Ultimately, I met a kind fellow, Ron, who had a spare room in Somerville Ma, in a beautiful and historic area but it was on the second floor, atop a spiral winding staircase.  I was in a bit of pinch and we moved in but on our first day there, Malcolm, three legged now, down and outright refused to walk down the stairs.  They were too steep and too winding.  

I remember our first day there I couldn't get him to walk down the stairs to go outside.  He wouldn't budge.  

--------

I cried for the first time.  I failed him.  I failed myself.  Things didn't work out in Boston like I planned and Malcolm was suffering as a result.  

--------

My tears lasted only for a moment and then I figured out a solution.  Malcolm was afraid of falling so I put myself in front of him, kneeling down before him.  Chest against chest, we made it down the staircase.  We did that every day for the year we lived in Somerville.  

--------

Too often we think of love and hate as finite points but in reality, they're just degrees of beauty.  

THE ROCK: YBD Unplugged

1. Ed didn't like the last installment of Chapter Six.  I didn't unpack it enough I suppose and I guess I wasn't entirely satisfied with it either but birds fly, fish swim, dogs walk, and writers write.  

I don't think I like anything I do.  It's never good enough but she's right in that I left out a few critical aspects of Malcolm's limb amputation.  First of all, nothing prepared me for the surgery.  I thought leg must go not leg plus shoulder.  

It was a total ablation of one-fourth of Malcolm.  The extent of his surgical lesion went almost from stem to stern.  

2. Recently, I was sent a quote from CS Lewis that I've paraphrased and seems particularly relevant.  "I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable; but if you have been - if you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing is ever going to happen again.”

3. Telling this story was part of the deal I made with God to get Hudson and Murphy cross country safely.  You don't bargain with God but I don't bargain with the safety of my boys either.  I'm trying to do a good job of telling it and I'll continue to try to do so every week.  For those who are reading, thank you.  

Recipe White Peach Sangria

As promised here's my most excellent recipe.  I start with a bottle of white wine rather than red.  Some prefer sweeter like Moscato but I use Sauvignon Blanc instead.  I'm no where near the master mixologist as our good friend Larry in the White mountains and rather than pour to precision, I use taste as my guide.  But basically, to the pitcher full of wine, I add a shot of Brandy, a shot of Triple Sec, a cup of pineapple juice and orange juice and a shot or two of Blue Agave. Finally, I add two shots of peach puree which you can typically find on the juice aisle.  Also, V8 makes a peach drink that works just fine.  And to top it off, a shot or two of Peach Schnapps to taste.  

Salud & Happy Cinco de Mayo! 

THE ROCK: Chapter 6 Continued

IS THAT THING GOING TO GROW BACK?

December 2008

--------

We were making our way through Kentucky during the first winter of our walk when Ginger Morgan's dog, Buddy, was diagnosed with bone cancer in his jaw.  We had only met Ginger a few months earlier when we walked through Memphis but I had knew the Bud Man and bonded with him instantaneously.  Three and a half legged, Katrina survivor, squirrel hunter and coon ass lab mix there was nothing that anyone couldn't love about him.  

Ginger sought treatment for his cancer at the University of Missouri and his care came under the capable hands of Dr. Selting.  During their first visit there, she and Buddy checked into one of the cheap pet friendly motels most proximate to the vet school and the concierge there, upon seeing, I assume, a three legged dog for the first time, asked the question to end all questions.  When was Bud Man's leg going to grow back.

--------

Ginger and I reflect and laugh about it from time to time and while I did know dogs don't regrow limbs like reptiles, I was probably just as uniformed and confused as that concierge back when Malcolm was first diagnosed with bone cancer.  

--------

May 2004

Down south where I grew up, if you have an animal that becomes lame you put them down.  That's less true today than it was 10 years ago but it's still commonplace.  But there was never a moment's hesitation in my decision for Malcolm to undergo limb amputation.  It was like an answer that always existed before a question was ever asked.  

The surgery was successful and I couldn't wait to get him home.  The clinic wanted to keep him for an extra day to which my answer was, "Hell, no".  Healing happens much faster at home.  But I was concerned about the transport back so I rented a flatbed dolly upon which I put his dog bed and built a plywood ramp to get Malcolm from door to door with as little turbulence as possible.  

--------

When I said last time in my YBD's notes that I had intended to entitle chapter six, 'People Are Pussies', I meant it in that it's amazing to me how better equipped animals are to survive and adapt than we are.  I'm not smart enough to know if that's a sociological flaw or an evolutionary one though I suspect it's the former not the latter.  

But the resiliency with which Malcolm rebounded post-op was nothing less than awe inspiring.  As the Fentanyl wore off within a week, he didn't want any assistance walking down the steps outside to attend to business.  He was damn well ready to piss on his own.  And the week following, it was almost as if Malcolm was born three legged.  It was as if everything was back to normal.  But it wasn't.  

--------

Or I wasn't anyway.  Once a loved one is given the diagnosis, there is no normalcy.  Not ever again.  

--------

YBD's Notes 1:  I'm not sure if you're liking the non-linear telling of this story but it's the only way I've found to reconcile the story's past and keep it moving forward.  But I appreciate any thoughts and ideas to make it better.

YBD's Notes 2:  If you have or know a dog that has bone cancer or lost a limb, check out Tripawds.  They're great motto is 'God gave dogs 3 legs and a spare' and they work tirelessly to help educate people limb amputation.  Jim and Rene are just about the best damn people in the world and it's trail magic that this week that I'm talking about Malcolm's amputation is the publication of their first newsletter.  We'll catch up with them further down the line as they play a bigger part in this our story.  

Untitled Opus

After the walk was well under way and perhaps even the months leading up to it, I was asked by more than a handful of people whether Hudson and Murphy were up for the journey or was I subjecting them to a self indulgent albeit well intended form of cruelty.  

"Well, birds fly.  Fish swim.  And dogs walk", was my cheeky reply back then.  

  lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

-----

As Edna Saint Vincent Millay wrote, I've been burning my candle at both ends the last couple of days and I didn't have an opportunity to sit and write until 2:30 AM this morning and this was the result.  I fell asleep, computer in lap and when I awoke a little while ago splayed out all over it I thought, hey, I'll just publish it as is since it's a real reflection of YBD's life.  

Have no idea what I was dreaming last night but it doesn't seem good.  Or it least it was for a little while but didn't end well.  I'll try and finish the next installment of Chapter Six of the Rock tonight but... well, you'll understand soon enough...  

This is going to be an awesome weekend and I'm all about celebrating Cinco de Mayo.  In honor of that, I will post my White Peach Sangria recipe and a salsa recipe, too.  Until then, Vaya Con Dios...  

I Break the Dawn With You

Newport Rhode Island is one of the most magical places I've ever been and one of the oldest. Founded in 1639 and known for pirates and rum runners, they say that at one point the law dictated that every citizen was entitled to casks of rum regularly.  Ah, the good ole days and a perfect place for a rapscallion like me.  

But I'm coming to know it for something much greater still. There's a confluence of wind and seas here that captured me.  It's neither the beginning of my journey nor the end but I'm caught here by Newport's inescapable beauty where the sunrise and sunset both break your breath and they trace the arcs of tears.

Sex With Louis CK

Say Bro.  I'm really sorry to have to say this but you and I have to have sex.  I know you're not gay and I'm not gay but it's a ratings, readership thing.  My mission in life is cancer and people get tired about reading that after awhile.  

So I polled my thousands of followers about who to have sex with to be scandalous about and as much as it pains me to say, Natalie Portman came up a cold second.  

Sorry, it's you and me Bro..  

I know that the chick in season 2 didn't work out so well but I have pictures of her if it helps.  I have pizza too.  I'm the package deal.   Hit me up when you're ready.  

THE ROCK: Chapter 6

THE MATTER OF MOMENTS

Statistic:  1 out of every 2 men and 1 out of 3 women will develop cancer in their lifetime...

It is estimated that between one and two million dogs are diagnosed every year with cancer...

--------

"Cancer.  Fuck."  

Everyone who has been or had a loved one diagnosed with this scourge of a disease has spoken these two words in some variation or another.   

--------

Cancer is like the sound of silence when you're underwater.  Like when you're submerged in your bathtub holding your nose.  

After I got Malcolm's diagnosis, I was stuck there until I couldn't breathe and had to resurface. 

Scientists say that it takes about 10 milliseconds for your brain to register pain.  They also say the average person can hold their breath for a minute, maybe.  I cannot recall when the next words I spoke fell within that range but just as innate the desire to live is, so is the immediate instinct to save the life of a loved one.  

"Do whatever you can to save him."

--------

In many life and death situations, you're not given a great many moments to think about things.  Maybe my mind was pre-wired when the diagnosis came down as Osteosarcoma and learned that it meant taking a bone saw to my boy.  

As medieval as it seemed to me at the time, I didn't hesitate in my first consultation with the orthopedic surgeon.  "Take it", I said. 

But I asked him if we could have one more week with Malcolm being four-legged.  Given the advancement of his cancer the surgeon strongly recommended against it since there was a  possibility that his right front leg could fracture or break at any moment.  

But I was resolute and we scheduled the surgery for the following week.  

--------

Knowing the risk, I took Malcolm and Murphy camping at Harold Parker State Park in North Andover, MA, pictured nearby, and we had us a helluva time.  But in the tent that night I couldn't help but being haunted about why Malcolm didn't show me earlier he was suffering and in pain.  

If his cancer was that advanced, it must've been growing in his humerus for months and that thought hurt me the most.  As I would later discover from a biopsy, his bone was spongy with little support and structure left, and as the Orthopede related to me once the biopsy came in, he couldn't even believe Malcolm was still walking. 

--------

They cut off his leg the following Monday, a procedure that really is quite short and simple.  

-------- 

We all too often think about time as a continuum but it's a compression really.  We live lifetimes in moments and lives last for only a moment.   And I realized that Malcolm didn't have many left.  

--------

YBD's Notes 1:  On my travels, I have since learned about and in some cases met dogs with bone cancer that never evidenced a single symptom until their legs split apart.  It's unfathomable yet fascinating to me their threshold of pain and how it plays into their natural survival instinct.  Pain Management is a new area of veterinary medicine that is trying to understand this. 

YBD's Notes 2:  Given that, I should have entitled this Chapter, 'People Are Pussies'.  In the wake of all of the recent tragedies, I mean no disrespect to anyone but I mean this as maybe dogs are a greater model for us all to learn how to live and survive.   

Why

I'm going to take a break from the book for a blog or two to talk about something that, in my last installment, has haunted me since April 2004 and in the wake of recent tragedies seems particularly relevant.    

Why.

We all want to know.  Why did the Newtown CT and the Boston Marathon massacres happen?  

I have two things to share with you today.  First is a scene from one of the best films ever made, Shadowlands, about CS Lewis, one of the most controversial Christians and a hero of mine.  

The second is part of the answer as to why I entitled Chapter 5 of The Rock 'Giant Ants Dancing Around Wearing Top Hats' from a skit from the greatest comedian, Louis CK also a hero of mine, wherein which he's trying to answer his daughter's question why they can't go outside in the rain.  

Taken together they form the crux of my faith and that's what I'll be talking about in Chapter 6.  I've lost it then found it.  I fell from God's grace then was blessed in an unbelievable way.  

I've asked why.  I've even asked why about why in some sort of egregious philosophical stalemate.  

As much as I'm trying to keep this story moving forward I still keep retracing my steps and it comes back to the beginning, back to why.  And I know alot of people are going through this now.  And here's my thought for you - some of you are going to get about 80% of the way to finding the answer and then it stops.  

A good friend of mine, a graduate in philosophy once told me, "It isn't about the answers.  It's about the questions."  I was a young lad when we had that discussion and while those words are true to a point, but as a man whose born witness to some of the greatest glories of life and most senseless tragedies, faith takes you the rest of the way.  

It's the final rock that you climb or the last bend on your journey or sadly enough, it's the last breath you breathe with a loved one. Or your last whisper.  Why.

None of us can ever answer why.  God doesn't give that gift to us.  But he gives us the gift of asking...

THE ROCK: Chapter 5 Continued

It was slight, almost imperceptible Malcolm's limp at first.  I kept asking my girlfriend, Anna, if she saw it, too, as we walked along the Charles, and she said she didn't and that I was being neurotic and too maternalistic.   Which in hindsight probably wasn't too far off the mark.  If I could've bubble wrapped him without a PETA intervention, I may just have.  

Still I took Malcolm to a vet in Watertown, MA, and walked him all over the clinic like a show horse and they didn't see anything either.  Sad as it were he was like a shimmy in a steering wheel that you can't reproduce when taken to the auto mechanic.   

I knew it was there.   But at the time I was thinking it was perhaps a recurrence of his OCD which he was diagnosed with back in Texas that the bitter cold New England winter had exacerbated.  Or Malcolm had Lyme Disease which is exceedingly common up here that can lead to a degenerative neuro-muscular melt down.  

I vacillated for a couple of weeks half convincing myself nothing was wrong yet half knowing something was.  

Three things happened next.

--------

My dog got cancer.  My girlfriend left me.  And she took the truck.  

In some cruel cosmic irony, this Texas boy, who within six months of moving up to Boston, became a country song.  

--------

I remember when Anna and I first moved up to Boston in 2003, we were looking for a place to take Malcolm and Murphy for a hike and surveying a map we saw the Emerald Necklace, a sprawling almost contiguous swath of parks designed by the great Frederick Olmsted.  

We got lost looking for Back Bay Fens and saw a beat cop at a convenient store.  I pulled into the parking lot and asked him for directions, which in a thick, sweetly grating Boston accent he gave us smilingly.  

"Thanks but, say", I asked him, "I'm not from around here but I can't help but notice that there aren't any street signs in this city.  Why is that?"  

Without a second's hesitation he replied, "If you don't know, you shouldn't be here."  

--------

Maybe he was right.  I shouldn't have been there.  I should never have left my native state of Texas.  But just like playing a country song in reverse doesn't get your dog, your girl, or your truck back, one cannot undo the order of things.  

--------

I finally insisted that the vet in Watertown take X-Rays on Malcolm to be sure and when he delivered the diagnosis, I remember saying, "Wait, what?", as though my comprehension needed to catch up to the reality.  

I didn't even know dogs got cancer. 

Sure enough the vet showed me the star burst pattern on Malcolm's radiograph, an image permanently etched in my memory.  Through my tears I asked a question that, although I didn't know it at the time, would design and determine my fate for the rest of my days.  

"But, why?"  

--------

YBD's Notes 1:  I'm an honorary New Englander now and as I write this, in the wee hours of the morning, the great foghorns on the Narraganset Bay bellow nearby and rock me with pleasure.  

YBD's Notes 2: I didn't realize until writing this vignette that Back Bay Fens was where the final mile of our walk began.  Ironically, it wasn't our first choice.  The Esplanade was.  Funny how things work out.   

YBD's Notes 3:  I find people who use tragic circumstances to further a personal agenda distasteful and even though I am a transplant, I just want to let the people of Boston know that I stand proud with you.  And to that beat cop, "Maybe so.  But I am here."  

The Charles

After my post, Fish sent me a pic she took of the Charles River walk.  It isn't the bend but it shows some of the beauty besides.  

THE ROCK: Chapter 5

GIANT ANTS DANCING AROUND WITH TOP HATS

--------

I love comedy.  Not the easy, one-liner, spoon fed sitcomy crap but the bold, unapologetic, nook and cranny kind.  The kind that creeps up on you in unshakable fashion with unspeakable precision and for me, that's Louis CK.   But it took me years to find him.

--------

The year that I was selected as one of San Antonio's 'Rising Stars' was the year that I decided to betray my Texan roots and move on.

While in college, I had built a consulting practice that focused on commercializing technology and within just a few short years, I was at the top of my game but it wasn't good enough.  Texas had a great and growing nucleus of high-tech and bio-tech startups but I wanted to be a part of cutting edge research and that meant going to either the West or East Coast.

I choose the latter and loaded up Malcolm and Murphy and Anna, my girlfriend at the time, and we moved to Watertown, MA, into a rental a block off the Charles River.

--------

I don't think the terms solace or contentment apply to men like me but we can come close enough and walking along the Charles with Malcolm and Murphy on our daily constitutional got me as close as I'd ever been.

The beauty is indescribable.  There's a bend in the river where time seems to stop, where the light catches its surface refracting a spectrum of colors and a stillness to it.  We'd walk it up and down, back and forth in awe of the Charles.

I still remember that place with absolute clarity not only for its stunningness but as a simple, singular answer to the question I had at the time as to why I moved there.  Yes.

Certain as I was of my life choices and damn well determined to do great things and then, on one of our daily walks, everything changed.  My whole life reduced down to a dog walk along the Charles.

When Malcolm limped.  

--------

What Do You Call Cancer?

Even though I wrote the Title of Chapter Five of 'The Rock', a long time ago, I now find myself lost.  Very lost.  I've typed, re-typed it to the point that I'm creepily seemingly like Jack Torrance from the Shining.  Typing away and none of it seems to make sense.  

And yet the Chapter needs a title.  

But it made me think. Most nearly everyone has been through this, so what would you call that chapter in your life?  I'd like to hear.  

Title or not, Chapter Five of The Rock continues this Friday...

THE ROCK: Chapter 4 Continued

Dented Doors

--------

The two hardest things in life are opening doors and closing them.   And I wasn’t about to let Murphy into ours, me and Malcolm. 

We had reached a rhythm and routine and there was no room for another.  Indeed the very evening Stevie brought him home as a surprise, I was already trying to ship him right back out and one of the first calls I made was to my parents. 

‘You need a dog’, I said and put my best sales pitch together citing that they needed more than just their two Persian kitties to illuminate their golden years.  But they declined and I called friends.  And then friends of friends, but no one wanted Murphy. 

We were stuck with him, the half-crazed, chewing on sheetrock, micturating in every square foot of the house, train wreck of a puppy, Murphy.  I still can’t recall what I did in life to deserve a first and now second Great Pyrenees, but I was paying penance for it now.

The price wasn’t that steep but taking into consideration that I was working day and night and often slept on the couch in my office I just didn’t have the strength, time, or even inclination to help heal this poor little abused puppy. 

But as fate would have it, I didn’t have to.  Malcolm healed Murphy.  Mostly anyway.  Within weeks, it was like all of Murphy’s anxieties were gone.  He wasn’t righted completely but he was better and happy and Malcolm had found a mate. 

To play with sure but to torment most probably. 

By the time Murphy had come into our lives, Malcolm had become uninterested in dog toys and yet whenever I’d bring a new one home for Murphy, Malcolm would claim it as his own and unwilling to share for an hour or so just to assert the order of things.  And it would drive Murphy nuts. 

Malcolm’s authority was always absolute.  Hell, he broke me and to the point where I was singing girly songs to him and I’m no push over.  But watching the two of them together, I learned that dogs need to have both human and canine companions and though I didn’t know it then, this is where 2 Dogs really began. 

Not with Malcolm and even with Murphy but their togetherness.  They were inseparable.  

Doors are never fully open or shut.  They are in a constant state of in-between.  It took a long time for me to love Malcolm.  To learn how to care for him as a parent.  And the damnable tragedy is that no manner of love that I had learned, that I had so reluctantly been willing to give Malcolm spared him from what came next.  

--------

YBD's Notes 1:  The photo is of Murphy when he first came into our life.  

YBD's Notes 2: To my former Muse.  Though I came up with it a long time ago, I never knew how to use it until now.  Thank you.  

YBD's Notes 3:  Malcolm and Murphy's companionship reminded me of a song from an much underappreciated movie, Hudson Hawk sung by Bruce Willis and Danny Aiello.  

I Shrugged

It's time for me to return to Facebook.

I could spend an hour at least discoursing as to the reasons why I deactivated my account but I learned what I needed to learn.  

There's a great book that I eschewed in my younger years but I read it as a grown man and it has inspired me ever since.  It's about an immigrant who built a life and a legacy against all odds.  But it's more than that.  

For me, the sad thing is what got lost in the midst of all this is my profound and absolute appreciation to the people who have been a part of this story and continue to be.  Through the walk, through Murphy's diagnosis, the wilderness that followed his death, and the Tour to celebrate his life.  

I thank you but I did all of these things because I loved a dog.  

Not for you, not for fame or celebrity.  Hell it wasn't until recent that I even saw myself of Dogs 101, no disrespect to the production company.  

But I realize now I am no longer one of you, and I shrugged.  

I needed to.  And not because I don't care for you or don't value you but I must.  

There's a great philosopher that once said...  

In Memoriam

In the spirit of Easter, I've made some pretty special memorials for the lost companions of the friends the fuzzybutts have made on our travels.  Some big, others small.  Some living and organic, others static but eternal but I've always tried to do something singularly unique each time.

But the one I completed last week, I am particularly proud of.  A friend of mine collects sea glass in memory of Max, her Golden Retriever, and she kept the shards in various vases and jars.

I had this idea to suspend them in a false window that I designed and built so that the afternoon sun would illuminate the sea glass and she could add to it everytime as she scoured the rocky shoreline of Narragansett Bay, searching for her long lost memory of him.

THE ROCK Chapter 4: Murphy

CHAPTER 4 : Murphy

It’s been almost two years since I lost Murphy and there’s still a rankled rawness in writing about him and within my original draft of Book One, this chapter wasn’t initially included.    

But as excoriating as it still is, Murphy was so much a part of Malcolm’s story early on and mine, their influence upon one another is significant and I realize now it’s impossible to disinclude it.     

--------

Murphy was all of a month or two old when Stevie, my girlfriend at the time, brought him home as a surprise for me.  I’d met Stevie years previously and was turned on to her in a lightening second for a couple of reasons.  First of all, she was named after the lead singer of Fleetwood Mac due to her tall stature and flowing hair. 

Stevie was also a die hard vegan and animal rights advocate, her big heart always standing up for those who couldn’t speak for themselves was what also drew me to her.  Still, when I came home to find that she had rescued a Pyrenees pup, a potential brother to Malcolm, I was none too pleased. 

--------

Even though Murphy was a cute lil feller as all pups are, I could tell he was a powder keg set to go off at anytime.  But the flaws weren’t his fault.  Stevie had pretty much down and outright stolen him from a groomer at the vet clinic she worked.  The groomer left him outside day and night, through sweltering heat and treacherous electric storms and by the time he was brought into the clinic, Murphy was listless and pretty much lifeless. 

But within a day of being brought home to our townhouse, he perked up enough to begin a reign of holy terror.  He wasn’t house broken but he was so willful even at that age that he actually tried to break the house instead. 

First of all, Murphy didn’t have ‘accidents’.  Nope, as I came to learn, his incontinence was intentional.  He didn’t shyly or sheepishly urinate in a corner, he ran around the entire living room with a steady stream of pee like he was making performance art or something. 

And he couldn’t be left unattended for too long in our townhouse.  We kept him barricaded in the kitchen to try and limit and confine the damage he wrought but even still he found a way.  For the first few days, Murphy would just knock down the pet doors and pee and poop all over the house.  But when I reinforced them to the point at which escape became impossible, it was like we left the Tasmanian devil in the kitchen. 

He’d chew on cabinet knobs and when we removed those, Murphy actually gnawed on the kitchen walls stripping it of wallpaper leaving teeth marks in the sheetrock.  It was like the Pyrenees version of Hannibal Lector and Linda Blair from the Exorcist had just moved in with us and I wasn’t about to call a priest.  I wanted him out of our townhome and out of our lives.

I felt bad for the lad for his lot in life and that he had a shitty, neglectful parent.  But that he was an unruly, untrained, misbehaving child, the real reason I didn’t want Murphy was because of Malcolm. 

--------

My attention had become diverted from Malcolm and even though he never displayed the slightest sense of jealousy or what I would later learn as ‘resource guarding’ over Murphy, I still felt guilty that he wasn’t the one and only anymore. 

It was a long, hard road for me to learn to love Malcolm and I wasn’t about to share that.  And I wasn’t about to take that journey with another dog.

--------

Author’s Note on Author’s Notes:  I’m no longer calling them this anymore because it makes me sound like a pretentious boob.  Henceforth, they’ll be Yer Big Dog’s Notes. 

YBD’s Notes 1:  I have a big opportunity so I'm going to have to move my posting from Friday to I'm not quite sure yet til I work out the specifics.  But rest assured, I'll keep sharing the story with you every week.