Wednesdays with Otis

Greetings From The Badlands

2009-04-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

My human is one lucky pup.

We left our Rapid City Motel 6 Monday morning desperately needing to find a fedex office.

"Where do you think one would be" the human asked Seamus.

"I don’t know. Let’s go this way," he replied.

We turned the corner and bam, there’s a parked fedex truck with a woman inside.

"Would you mind taking this package," the human asked.

"Sure, no problem," she says.

"Is there even a fedex office in this town," the human inquired.

"It’s a ways east of here. You’re not even close," she responds.

Next stop, Rushmore.

The human paid our seven bucks for parking and we walked up to take a peek at George, Thomas, Teddy and Abe. As we approached our viewing position we see this great looking wiener dog. The human gave the four President’s a passing glance and went directly to the pooch.

"What’s your dog’s name," he asks the other human.

"Grover Cleveland," the man responds in a thick accent of which I am unfamiliar.

"Are you shitting me," the human exclaimed.

"The second," the other human adds.

"Where are you from," my human inquires.

"Mount Ida, Arkansas. Been out west and thought we’d stop by here on our way home."

That's the thing about my human and Seamus. How many times do you think you could visit Mount Rushmore and meet a dog named after a president, let alone while driving around the country making a dog book titled Dog Bless America?

So Grover assumed his position and the human fired away. I was just happy to get a break.

Grover and the other 4.

After Rushmore we made the trek into the Badlands National Park. It seemed our luck was running out though because we couldn’t find a single dog in all the Badlands. Supposedly, the park superintendent had a dog, but it was his day off and he had traveled elsewhere. Makes sense that one would want to leave the office on their day off, even if your office is the Badlands.

Parched and running out of light, the three of us paid a quick visit to Town of Interior, a city with a population of 67 that sits smack in the middle of the Badlands. We were thirsty and we thought that maybe the owner of the store/bar/gas station/trading post might have a dog. Sure enough, they had a blue heeler named Rowdy. Rowdy, however, wasn’t at all interested. I could tell right away that she would rather take my human's camera and put it up my you know what. She pretty much wanted me off her property pronto vista. Believe me, dogs know this stuff.

We got the message and the owners weren’t offering up much in the way of conversation anyway. On our way back to the van we heard a bunch – and I mean, a bunch – of dogs howling at us. At this moment a skinny young cowboy rode up on his horse.

"What’s the story with all those dogs," the human asked the skinny young cowboy.

"They belong to my Grandpa," he replied.

"Where’s your Grandpa?"

"He’s inside the store."

"The guy we were just talking to," the human asked.

"Probably," he said with another unfamiliar drawl.

The human looked at Seamus and grinned. Back in the store we went.

"How come you didn’t tell us about all those dogs out there," he asked.

"They’re not dogs I tend to talk about with strangers," he replied.

Our luck had hit a fever pitch.

The guy agreed to talk to us and let the human photograph his dogs as the sun went down behind them. We quickly discovered that they were hunting dogs and their sole purpose in life was to chase down the coyotes that prey on the area wild stock. They were the weirdest looking dogs I had ever seen – half Irish Wolfhound, half Scottish deer hound and half Greyhound. The wolfhound gave them longer hair for the cold nights; the deer hound gave them their hunting instinct; and the greyhound blood provided their speed. There was something very eerie about them, and something very eerie about the Badlands surrounding them. The whole scene was giving me the willies.

As the human took pictures of Bootlegger, Bones, Whiskey, Boozer and Princess (her mom’s name was Queen), Seamus spent some time interviewing Mr. Reichardt about the role his dogs play in his life. The guy had 15 dogs out there (at one point he had 100). He told Seamus he’d been hunting coyotes for nearly 50 years. He says he’s addicted to it. Told us we should stop back by in October and go on a hunt. Says it’s like a drug and once we did it we’d be hooked. (I doubt it.) He also says they’re so loyal that they’ll run till they drop dead. Says two of his dogs have actually done so. (What?!) Says one of his dogs has racked up 500 coyotes. Seamus told him those sounded like Hall of Fame numbers.

"Nah," he replied.

He invited us back into his bar for a cold one. Turns out that not only is he the owner of the place, but he’s also the Mayor of Interior. He sat down and told us some more stories too long and gruesome to print. As the place filled up with the regulars, a couple of Native Americans showed up and Mayor Reichardt had to excuse himself to go barter with them. The mayor didn’t give ‘em much business so they came over to see what they could sell to us.

"We need ten dollars for gas money to make it home. Buy this tent," the wife demanded.

"I don’t need a tent," the human replied, "how bout I buy you a beer instead?"

"And some chips," she added.

He bought her pretzels but she couldn’t eat them because just like old Kenny Vinion, she didn’t have any teeth.

"No teeth. Need chips," she demanded.

"You go pick them out," he said.

We chatted with them over a beer before giving them ten bucks and going on our way. The husband looked the human dead in the eye and said, "You are a good soul. I will remember you."

"Thank you," the human said, as the toothless wife gave him a big, strong hug.

I had to admit, this was a proud moment for me.

We decided that we were way too tired to make it to our planned destination so we decided to check into a cabin in the Badlands National Park. By the time we made it to the lodge we were too late to check in. The office was closed. But, as luck would have it, someone was still inside and they gave us a key to number 11 and trusted that we would square up in the morning.

Morning arrived and we planned a straight shot to Omaha – a seven or eight hour drive. It’s a big country though and plans tend to change. Before we even got out of the Badlands we spotted a helicopter ride service that gives tours of the Badlands. Our idea was to hop a ride over to Interior and get an aerial video shot of the Mayor’s interesting setup. (If I haven't mentioned, Seamus and the human are documenting our travels on video, interviewing most of the people we meet.) Anyway, the human thought it might add something to his story.

I got left in the car on the ground below and watched the two of them lift into the sky. They woke me sometime later excited about getting the exact shot imagined as well as some incredible footage of the Badlands themselves. The ride cost a hundred bucks, which is a lot of cabbage, but based on the human's excitement, it seemed more than worth it. We thanked the pilot, said goodbye and hit the road.

Some 60 miles up the 90 the human tells Seamus he needs to pee and asks if he can take the next exit. The next exit brings us to this very cool Diner with a perfect sign out front that reads: DOG & SUDS with a picture of this funny looking dog on it.

The human looked at Seamus and said, "This is too easy."

The human raced inside not to pee but to ask if the owner was around.

Some minutes later he came back with the owner who had agreed to do a quick interview.

Seamus had just wandered off to use the phone so the human turned on the video camera and started rolling. The guy was great. A real cowboy. Loved dogs and always had them. Told funny dog jokes and expressed all the reasons that dogs are great. I could tell this was my kind of guy. He was a hoot!

When they were done the human thanked the man for his time and went off to find Seamus and inform him of our continuing good fortune.

"Seamus, I got some great stuff," he said.

"Did you re-cue the tape," he asked.

"Huh?"

"Did you re-cue the tape? I rewound it to look at the helicopter stuff while you were inside," he said.

The look on the human's face was heartbreaking. After a long pause and a deep breath he tried to look at the bright side of things and said, "Well at least this guy was really great."

And Seamus responds, "Did you turn the mic back on, because I turned it off when we were up in the helicopter."

Ouch. Guess their luck had run out.

Onward,

Otis

This is Bones. He is one bad dog. And by bad I mean good. He keeps the coyotes from eating Mayor Reichardt's cattle. That's Mayor Reichardt in the background. And that's the house that Bones lives in. I guess he doesn't mind it. Me? I wouldn't last a night.

Here's me in another winning shot - smack in the middle of the Badlands.

If this ride wasn't so epic, I might not be so agreeable to all these snaps.

Greetings From Marmarth, North Dakota!

2009-04-20T06:26:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Fort Benton, MT on Friday afternoon and immediately found the statue of Old Shep. I hopped out of the car and went straight over to give the old dog a sniff. Not as impressed as the thousands who come through the historic town to see the dog, I jumped down and started marking Shep's territory instead.

We were soon befriended by the town's 14-year-old juvenille delinquent. He told us that he'd just finished his 20 hours of community service he had to do for missing curfew. He hung out with us for the better part of the afternoon and took us up to Old Shep's burial site. Before we dropped young Tom off, he pointed out the Sunrise Bluff Retirement Home, where he said we would find Kenny Vinion. Legend had it that Mr. Vinion played "Taps" at Shep's funeral in 1942. We decided to pay him a visit and sure enough the delinquent's story was true! When the human asked Mr. Vinion if he still played the horn, he mumbled, "Not since I lost all my teeth!"

We checked into the town's only motel where we met the owner who also happened to be Ft. Benton's own version of Paul Harvey. It was here that we learned "the rest of the story" about Old Shep. My earlier version of Shep's story might have been a little off. The story goes like this: Shep's human was a sheepherder. After he passed away they put his body in a casket and sent him out of town on a train. Old Shep knew his master's body was in the box and waited for him to return for the next five years! Faithful Shep checked every train that came in until one day when he slipped on some ice and under a moving train. Makes enough sense, right? Well, here's "the rest of the story":

Times were tough back then. America was at war. We were just coming out of the depression. There wasn't a lot of money floating around and dogs were getting the short end of the stick. They weren't necessarily "affordable" so to speak. Old Shep was a smart dog. The day he went to the station to see his master off he was given some scraps. Seems Old Shep connected the train with food. After that point on, everytime he heard the train-whistle blow he went to the station because he knew someone would give him food. The porter would give him the leftovers from the ride. The locals would think he was there as a loyal dog and feed him out of sympathy. Old Shep had hit the jackpot! The day he died he was supposedly trespassing on some property with some other dogs. The farmer pulled out his shotgun and started shooting. Old Shep was hit in the shoulder and managed to make it back to the station where he laid down and died. Could this really be...the rest of the story? The town's Paul Harvey enjoys getting a rise out of the other locals. "They just don't want the controversy," he claims. While it's logical enough to be true, it seems to me that Old Shep's original story will keep tourists coming for years and years to come. By the time we left Fort Benton on Saturday I'm pretty sure the entire town knew who the three of us were. Then we waved goodbye and got outta dodge.

We spent Saturday afternoon driving east all the way across Montana. Again, the sky so huge! And the wide-open road - you feel like you're going 65 only to look at the speedometer to realize you're going 90! By the way, our rental van guts out at 106 mph. They say there's no speed limit in Montana, but ours is obviously 105, but I don't recommend hanging your head out of the window at that speed!

Today(Sunday) we drove through a little town called Marmarth, North Dakota. Here we sought out a family with a dog. We found two families who were related and had two dogs each. This town had 151 people in it up until last week. Someone died so now they're down to 150. The dog the human chose to photograph was 16 years old! That's 112 or something like that! Can you imagine! I can only hope to last that long, but I don't think my breed has the genes, which is why I live for today! Anyway, the family was a kick. One of the kids was six years old and his uncle was four!

Now we're at our fourth Motel 6. If you didn't know, Motel 6 is sponsoring our trip. It's pretty funny because no matter what city or state we're in all the rooms look exactly the same. Don't tell my human, but for awhile there, I thought we kept returning to the same motel every night, which would have made for a lot of extra driving. That's it for now. The Badlands are next!

Otis

P.S. Seamus approves all of these e-mails before they go out. The only thing he wants to add is that the human is wearing tightie-whities. In the human's defense, it's only because all of his boxers are dirty and he needs to do laundry. I'd offer to help, but I'm a damn dog.

Here's me and Ol' Shep. I couldn't get my tail to curl up like him. Otherwise it's a pretty good imitation on my part, don't you think?

This is where Shep is actually buried, way up high above the town of Ft. Benton. Pretty nice spot to end up. I wonder what the human will do with me.

This is Old Kenny Vinion, who played "Taps" at Shep's funeral. He was a nice man.

Here's the story before "the rest of the story"!

Welcome to North Dakota and yet another photo-op!

Here's a snap of the family of the 16-year-old dog, Spook. The little one on the far left is the uncle of the kid next to him.

Here's the kind parents of those two kids. If I'm not mistaken, and I could be cause I'm only a dog, the woman in the red shorts is the daughter of the woman in the jeans and the man in the cowboy hat. The woman in the red shorts is the mother of the 6-year old and the sister of the four-year-old. The pooch under the table is as confused as I am.

And here's Spook, the 16-year-old wonder dog!

Greetings From Big Sky Country!

2009-03-29T22:35:00.000-07:00

I find my human is using a lot of swear words as we discover the beauty of it all.

Anyway, we had a little trouble getting out of Boise the other day. While the human and Seamus were packing up to leave after a very pleasant stay at a friend’s Idaho estate, I managed to wander off just before departure. I must have been missing for about 45 minutes before I was finally found. I could hear them calling my name but I had no way to get to them. See, I had wandered into a stranger’s garage when suddenly the door went down. I was stuck, no way out. I don’t even know why I wandered in there. I think I thought I smelled some food, but when I got in there I realized it was just cat food high up on a shelf I couldn’t reach. The human and Seamus seemed to get more desperate in their calls. I decided to yelp to help them out, but with each yelp they seemed to get further away. Just when I began to wonder if they would leave me behind – would they? – a stranger opened a door and spotted me there. She pushed a button on the wall and magically the big door I entered through opened. I was free! I ran out and back toward our van to find the human wearing a dual expression of relief and rage. I promised this would be the last time I wandered off, knowing full-well it was a promise I couldn’t keep.

Anyhow, no small potatoes, we made it through Idaho and into Jackson, Wyoming by sunset. The human and Seamus sweet-talked our way into a Motel 6 that supposedly had no vacancy. I am very impressed by those two and how they gain trust and make friends with people so quickly. I think they would make great dogs. They kind of remind me of puppies what with how strangers think they are cute and want to take them right in. This Motel 6 thing was looking bleak but a couple of flirty minutes later and we had ourselves a room.

We made our way down to the famous "Cowboy Bar" where we met all sorts of interesting people. Seamus befriended an older cowboy with a worn out hat and glasses as thick as the bottom of the beer mugs I could see above. The guy was drunk as a skunk and had a herd of cowgirls around listening to his stories. From my vantage point at the foot of the stool, it seemed Seamus had found his hero.

Before the night was over the human had met the famous nature photographer Thomas Mangelsen and planned a rendezvous with him at his place first thing in the morning. His place just so happened to be one of two houses at the base of the Grand Tetons. When we arrived I heard the human let out another swear word. Mr. Mangelson wanted to give the human "his shot". “His shot” was a picture that he hadn't taken yet but knew he would one day. "His shot" was a picture of his dog diving into his backward lake with the Grand Tetons as the backdrop. I gotta say I was going bonkers watching Mr. Mangelson’s water-loving dog go flying into that lake time and again chasing after the tennis ball they repeatedly whacked out there with a tennis racket for extra distance. I couldn’t stand it! Problem is, I don’t know how to swim. So I had to stand there at the edge of the lake pretty much going freaking mental.

The human got the shot. Mr. Mangelson’s dog got the ball. And all I got was freaking case of the anxieties. If there is one thing I can’t stand in this life it’s another dog having the ball that I want. The human thought he was doing me a favor by letting me out of the van, but next time I hope he thinks it through a little more and overcomes whatever guilt he feels by leaving me behind.

After chatting with Mr. Mangelson for awhile at the base of the Tetons we said goodbye to our new friend and headed out for Montana. Helena would be our destination. We bypassed Yellowstone due to construction and took the I-15 north. We passed through the most beautiful storm right as we were crossing the Montana border. We pulled over to take a snapshot of the "Welcome to Montana" sign and just as the human was ready to step out of the car a flash of lighting struck and a crack of thunder followed like a gunshot going off in our ears. Now I ain't afraid of much, but that thunder crack made me shake like a tea leaf in a hurricane. I kinda wished I was still stuck in that garage in Boise!

So we rolled into Helena at about midnight. We could have made it earlier but we had to pull over and take so many dang pictures. The sky is so huge here. Today we will travel to Ft. Benton, MT to learn more about the history of Old Shep. Old Shep is a dog who used to walk his master to the train every day. His master would take the train to work and when he returned Old Shep would be there waiting. Well, one day the Master didn't return. He died instead. Old Shep waited at the station for him for the next five years. He checked every train that came in until one day when he slipped on some ice and got run over. Now there is a monument in his honor. Noble dog, that Old Shep.

P.S. Did you know that the Grand Tetons were discovered by the French and named in honor of their women that they left back home. As the story goes, they were very horny and missed them much. Hence, Grand Tetons. I'll let you translate. I’m a dog, after all.

Here I am above the giant Hole that is Jackson, moments before descending on our fate.

Fate would be meeting the famed photographer Thomas Mangelson on the stool next to us at the famous Cowboy Bar. The following morning is when we found ourselves on his beautiful grounds at the base of the Tetons. Above is Mr. Mangelson's dog Loup. The human snapped this shot from my POV. You can see why I was having fits inside. Damn water dogs.

Here's Loup posing for the human with the Tetons in the background. Not a bad environment to mark in the mornings. Loup was born into the good life, for sure.

There I am down there, mere minutes after the loudest thundercrack ever known to man or beast. You can kind of see the residue of the terror that remains on my mug. Anyway, the storm passed and we had to get out of the car for another photo-op - this time the Continental Divide.

Little history lesson for you two legged creatures out there: A continental divide is a line of terrain, mountainous usually, which forms a border between two watersheds such that water falling on one side of the line eventually travels to one ocean or body of water, and water on the other side travels to another, generally on the opposite side of the continent. There are a few divides in America, I hear, but this one seems to be the granddaddy of them all. Hence it's name, the Great Divide! The Great Divide runs all the way from Alaska to the tip of South America! Don't take me on that walk!

Ah, the big sky of Montana. Roll down my window and step on it, human.

The Ride Of His Life

2009-03-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

Back in 1999 I had the great fortune of getting a book deal through Chronicle Books. My pitch was that I would hit every state in the country and photograph at least one dog to represent each state. It would be titled Dog Bless America. Chronicle gave me a handsome enough advance that I was able to get in a van and with my two best friends--Seamus and Otis--and cover what ended up being 17,000 miles of road. The journey was epic in every way. And it is certainly true what they say about the journey being the destination. I'd say that was my greatest lesson from the trip--that the journey is the destination. I think Otis always knew it. The day the three month ride ended might have been the lowest in Otie's life. The morning after we returned home to Portland I couldn't find him. I peeked outside to spot him sitting next to our van ready to roll. He had become accustomed to the routine of the road. It took a good two months to get him out of his funk. I used to say he was walking around as though the weight of a piano were on his back. And I do contend that life was never quite the same for him after such an historic ride. Eventually, life became routine again and Otis was able to once again live fully in the moment. But whenever the opportunity for a ride came up, you could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes that maybe, just maybe, this was gonna be another one for the ages.

Thus begins a recounting of our journey through the eyes, ears and nose of Otis Kerouac.

Greetings From Boise!

The three of us have reached Boise, Idaho and boy is it hot. The weather reminds me a lot of Portland--clear blue skies and no chance of rain!

We left Portland on Monday and made our first stop about five hours later in Walla Walla, Washington. We met and photographed a herding dog named Daisy on what seemed to me to be the most beautiful farm I might ever see--then again, this was only day one.

Miss Daisy was a perfect subject for my human up until one of the cows got a little out of line. All hell broke loose when Daisy's housemate Jack the Shitzhu wanted to herd some cattle too. Jack the Shitzhu just can't stand being stereotyped as a little lap dog and will sneak out into the pasture any chance he gets. The problem is that when Jack charges the cows, the cows charge back. Needless to say, we almost witnessed the end of Jack.

After photographing Daisy and getting Jack the hell out of there we sat down with their parents and an ice cold glass of homemade blue ribbon winning beer. Over beer the conversation immediately turned to the fascinating topic of UFOs. Turns out that Daisy and Jack's parents had only very recently discovered "crop circles" right in their wheat field. They showed us the newspaper articles and everything! At present, they are the talk of the town and I suppose they will continue to be until they finally meet the little green men and their little green dogs.

We said good-bye to Walla Walla a little behind schedule (UFOs and blue ribbon winning beer will do that to you), and we headed out for Boise. Three hours later (about midnight) we were being pulled over for doing 83 in a 65. Thank goodness Seamus was driving because my human says Seamus gets away with just about anything. And sure enough, the kindly officer let us go with a warning after learning a little bit about our journey. "That's a lot of driving ahead of you," he barked, "You be sure to get enough rest now, you here?"

Yes, officer. Thank you, officer. And off we raced.

Boise, Idaho is a hoot. Last night we sat and discussed archeology and the history of dogs with world renowned archeologist Max Pavesic and his two Shi Tzus, Kashmir and Chibi. Later, Max broke out a seven dollar bottle of wine and the conversations continued into the night. By the way, Max too believes we're not the only ones out here.

Today we head east to Jackson, Wyoming and the Grand Tetons. I hear it's kind of pretty there.

That's all for now. We are all getting along swimmingly. And I just can't get enough of all the new smells!

Woof,

Otis

P.S. My human, as I like to call him, is documenting our trip in both moving and still photographs. The Polaroid Company supplied all the film for his project. Because he takes all of his photographs with a 1965 Polaroid Land Camera, he approached a wonderful woman at the corporation named Anne McCarthy who agreed to donate as much polaroid pack film as he needed. And he's gonna need A LOT! He started snapping as soon as we hit the road. And if I know what's good for me, I will be game to be his subject whenever he needs, so long as he gets the shot in one take. Their are just too many scents and scenes to just sitting there wasting time for a photo-op.

The human has set a goal to take a picture of every single state welcoming sign as we go. Washington, being only minutes from my digs in Northeast Portland, was his first snap.

I get the feeling we are going to pull over quite a bit on this trip. Fine by me cause I can mark territory with the best of 'em. This is the famous Columbia River Gorge which divides Washington and Oregon. Look at all those trees! My goodness, I am already on sensory overload.

The human spotted this sign along the highway and decided it was worthy of a snap. Like I said, get it in one shot and it's fine by me. That said, I'm going to need to increase my intake of water or I'm going to run dry attempting to mark all this stuff.

Interesting play on words.

Here's Daisy. Her human says she's the greatest herding dog ever to live. I saw her in action and I totally believe it. She's a freak of nature the way she rounds them up. I was extremely impressed and kind of turned on. I just had no idea we dogs had that kind of talent.

Here she is having wrangled them up. They didn't dare stray either, even when she turned her head for my human's quick photo-op.

I like cows.

Eastern Oregon, Idaho and Montana all kind of look like the road ahead. Long, straight stretches as far as the eyes can see. The human and Seamus started playing a game where they guess how many miles away a high point in the road will be. So far, they are both terrible at it. One will guess three miles and the other will guess nine and it will end up being six. If only I could talk.

Idaho is, of course, known for its potatoes. That's me up there on the train tracks waiting for the click of the camera. Nobody mentioned the life-threatening nature of this part of the deal.

Kashmir and Chibi were pretty funny. They were the same looking as Jack the Shi tzu from Walla Walla, but I don't think they would have raced out to challenge the cows. These two were more secure in their lapdog lifestyle. They were pleasant enough to me, definitely more engaging than 'ol Daisy who wouldn't give me the time of day, but I still don't think they were sorry to see me go. I get the feeling I might be imposing myself on quite a bit of territory along the way. Dogs are just going to have to get over it.

Eulogy To Otis

2009-03-11T08:29:00.000-07:00

The ashes have been delivered. I've sprinkled some of him over his favorite spots in the yard. There's plenty more of him to go around, although I was surprised how little there was of him to start. He seemed so much denser than the 3x4 tin urn he returned to me in. Anyway, my true aim is to take a little bit of him to Alaska and Hawaii - the only to states he didn't have the pleasure to mark.

We still miss him dearly. People ask if I've got another dog yet. You know, I love dogs as much as anybody, but I find the question a bit insensitive. Otis isn't just going to be replaced. This house is still his. Even though he's gone, he still occupies the space. It wouldn't be fair to another dog. And the only benefit to me would be a cleaner kitchen floor. Now that Otis is gone, we realize just how many food particles we drop on the floor. Otis was more miraculous than the Dyson vacuum advertised in the infomercials.

Alas, without further ado, here is my eulogy to Otis, in poem form. Now, please understand that I do NOT fancy myself a poet, this kinda sorta just came out.

eulogy to Otis

Otis two balls was your Indian name.

one ball would never suffice.

those times at the park when you'd not only fetch your ball,

but another's as well.

it was embarrassing,

but down inside I was proud how you refused to relinquish it.

I remember the time we dressed as doubles partners for Halloween.

decked out in our gear with every logo except for nike,

I in my shiny adidas apparel,

you dawning two Penn tennis balls and a headband with a big red W emblazoned in front.

how we went to work and who was the first person we bumped into but Phil freaking Knight.

"can you point me to the bathroom," he asked.

when here I thought it was game set and match.

you were the best partner in the world, dear Otis.

always there when I dropped the ball,

both literally and figuratively.

your constancy was my blessing,

even when I stepped on you by accident,

then shooed you away as though it were your fault.

the time in New York at Saint John The Divine,

the pastor speaking of Jesus and his limitless compassion and love.

I turned to find you sitting on a blind man's bluff.

at your core, you were the four-legged Jesus.

who could be more unconditional and forgiving than you?

all dogs are such, but we humans differ,

and I have to believe I took a lot more forgiving than most.

how I came home too late or too tired for a trek around the block,

depriving you chances to reclaim your territory from the rogues of the day.

how I awoke too late for a morning jaunt,

you masking your disappointment as I put up your gate and left you for hours.

always you wagged when I returned.

bygones were bygones, and hope in my goodness sprang eternal.

I could never rate,

and you could never care less.

Oscar Schindler at the end of the movie cries out,

"I could have done more!"

that's how I felt when your glorious pounding muscle of a heart took its last beat.

I could have done more.

Odes to Otis

2009-02-20T10:34:00.000-08:00

I started Wednesdays With Otis because I wanted to tell his story. His story will not end with his death. There is too much left to be told. His life was epic not only in dog terms, but in human. How many humans can say they've seen the lower 48? Otis lived. He really really lived. And his story, if recounted well enough, can be a lesson in how we can all live the best life possible.

I took a couple of weeks away from writing. I grieved a lot in the first days without him. I guess my immune system was no match for it because I was sick and worthless for an entire week.

Anyway, before I continue retelling the epic journey of Otis, I want to use this entry to thank all of my family, friends, neighbors and admirers of Otis who offered their sentiments. Otis truly touched a great many people during his 13 glorious years. But not only do I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart, I also to share some of those sentiments here, anonymously, of course.

These words helped me through. They assured me that I was a good human to Otis, that he had a wonderful life - perhaps the most wonderful life any dog could ask for. I still don't fully believe that, because my guilt is too great. I know I could have been better, but many of these words stopped me from beating myself up over it. They also allowed me to find peace in the terribly difficult decision it was to end Otis' tongue-dangling, tail-wagging ride.

I hope they will bring comfort to others who have, or will have to go through similar loss and grief.

Here are those words:

He had a good long run, and really gave ‘em hell these last few months!

Sorry to hear about the greatest dog of all-time. I'm thinking he's chasing butterflies through fields of alfalfa right now. Dogs reflect the things that are best about ourselves.

Otis was one lucky dog and I'm sure he knew it. In fact, that's one of the lovely things that animals show us-- that gratitude. Just for being us. And what other dog can say that he traveled around all of the United States with his best friend?

I'm so sad to hear about Otis. What a magnificent dog!

I'm really sorry about Otis. People deserve to die – not dogs.

I loved him from the minute I met him, when he took off running in our neighborhood searching for who knows what?

Our pleasure is having them for the brief time we are allowed their glorious presence.

You gave him a spectacular life - the fullest and most complete life of any dog I have known, or will know.

He had the most amazing life a dog, or human really , could ever ask for.

There are no words.
My heart just breaks for you...

I know how much of a friend he was...through some very hard (and very good) times. Not often you get something like that. It just breaks my heart.

God speed Otis. And you, my friend, need to take extra special care of you. and don't resist your grief or let anyone tell you he was just a dog. The loss is as real as anything. His energy is swirling around you now, and when you are ready you will harness it and know he will never leave your side.

You and Otis are two of the luckiest beings. You've indeed made me grateful for every day with mine.

He was a source of great joy...

He went out just like I imagined he would, still full of life. Funny to think, he probably cared more about how you and Sam and everyone else felt, than how he felt.

What sad news yet what an amazing and full life that lucky Otis experienced with you on this planet.

I'm really sorry to hear about your loss, but thankful for the great years you and Otis gave each other, and the honor, dignity and emotion with which you said good-bye.

I am so sorry for the loss of Otis: best friend, lover extraordinaire, ball-crazed, noble creature.

There aren't really words to console you, so I'll just say that I've been there and I know that the loneliness that follows is a strange and tortured one--it's profundity foreign to many people. But what I have always loved about animals--particularly dogs, but also cats--is their presence, not only during the big moments but the interstitial ones. They witness everything, and in those hours in our lives when no on else is around, there is that small comfort in knowing another heart is beating nearby--sending out a signal, as if to say, 'I'm here, you're here, that's good enough for now.'

There are no words, or feelings, or anecdotes that I can come up with in regards to Otis. His loss is too profound. And like him, it is your pain I am feeling.

So sad but so inspiring to me. To hear of all of the love and joy you received from Otis makes me want a dog. Our guys have been asking for a couple years and this may have put me over the edge.

Your honest love for Otis has been shared with so many people. I'm so damn sorry...

When do we have a ceremony?

I am so very very sorry. In my house, the kids are booted from our bed regularly, but my dog is under the covers nightly nestled in the crook of my legs and the jaws of life couldn't detach him, much to my husband's chagrin. So while I haven't gone through that horrific yet inevitable stage of a dog's life yet, I know the bond a person can have with a dog and wanted to share some sympathy.

I am so sorry. He was the greatest of dogs.

You gave him such a wonderful and long and filled and exuberant life. He gave you...everything.

You gave Otis an exceptional life. He gave you his unswerving loyalty, his absolute devotion, his bad breath, his reckless disregard for abstaining from cat poop. You were both winners, Jeff.

I am so sorry to hear about Otis. He had a good life with a great friend. You took care of him like a son and he looked up to you like a dad, which you were.

He had the best life a dog could ever hope for.

How awesome is it that people can have the capacity to love another so much (human or animal)? You and Otis were very lucky to have each other.

I don't know what else to say that you haven't already heard...but maybe this video will raise your spirits if you haven't already seen it.

Kid coming down from pain killers from his surgery at the dentist:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=txqiwrbYGrs

A cat can’t play catch, chew, fart like sewer pipe and love you like a dog.

Otis lived heaven on this earth - an incredible life. And - as for you - I heard something interesting the other day. Grief is a clear sign that you have loved well - it's part of the deal. Would you choose to live this life without love? I know how much it hurts but still feel that the pay-off of the past many years of companionship and unconditional love and affection that you've shared with Otis is worth it.

When my dad's dog passed it was almost as hard as my dad in a way, the relationship is so much more... unambiguous love. They are such amazingly pure love soldiers. You were a great partner to him obviously and everything you guys did together made the world better. Not just for you, but love that like is like a radio wave across the world.

I never cry for anything, including my mother when she passed 15 years ago, but dogs are different.

Someone told me just the other day that, unlike humans, dogs really never know when to “let go”. I think they are just so damn happy to be pleasing others that they forget to take care of themselves.

There is heaven for dogs, I've heard about it, believe me.

He has Gone. Hearts are Broken. But he is not forgotten, on the contrary, his spirit lives on in all the hearts of everyone who met him in person and through your writing.

I feel supremely lucky to have been witness to his journey on this earth. I cannot tell you how much I have appreciated all the inspiration -- and the times when I was closed down and you two reminded me to be open to love and life's whimsy.

I wish we could just go take a gun a blow cancer's guts out. Since it seems to punch us in the gut and heart way to many times.

He had a great life......and we all were happy to have him while we did!

Feel what you need to feel. It's what makes us human. Let me know if you need anything, like vodka!

Oh... I loved that guy. I'm not sure he was as fond of NH as we were of him. Thanks for making him part of our life. He packed the most muscle per square inch of body of any dog I've ever known but his biggest muscle was his heart.

Otis was a rock star.

Our love is eternal, our lives are not.

I am so sorry, but so proud of you all for having the courage to love something so much you could let it go.

I am still amazed at all the photos of Otis and all the amazing places he got to see. So many people aren't nearly that lucky.

I know you had one of those man/dog relationships that books and movies are made of.

Otis will live on in our hearts forever.

Your dog left a rainbow in my heart. He was my hero. I loved the feeling of being protected when I was sitting on your porch. Thanks to you for raising such a good dog. (This was a note based on a real-life experience when a minacious man approach my porch. Otis never growled at anybody, but this guy was different. The man turned and quickly went away.)

I'm sorry to hear that Otis passed. I know how hard you worked to keep him with you and that is a fantastic act of love.

A generous donation has been made to the Oregon Humane Society in memory of Otis. So incredibly sorry for your loss. What a good boy.

Playing God With Dog

2009-02-02T19:42:00.000-08:00

"Listen, Jeff, you did the right thing," the good doctor said. "I can promise you I wouldn't have let you do it if it wasn't time."

Dr. Judkins' words brought a trace of comfort as I sat on the floor of the darkened, sterile room, gazing in disbelief at my suddenly lifeless dog. I guess he could tell I was in a bit of shock, struggling with the choice I had just made.

I knew we were in trouble in the early hours of Friday morning. Otis climbed out of Sam's bed a number of times to alert me from the front door that he needed to go out. He would take a few seconds to relieve himself then retreat back to Sam's room and the comfort of his bed. Then I heard rustling downstairs at about 6am and found Sam and Otis were already up. Sam was eating some cereal and Otis was panting heavily down below, indicating the tumor was shooting off histamines again.

"He's been panting off and on like that all night," Sam said. "I couldn't sleep so we got up."

I grabbed Otis a Benadryl from the crowded shelf of meds and hid it in some leftover pasta, which he managed to swallow.

I got Sam ready for school and made sure he gave Otis some love on our way out. I didn't make a big deal of it because I didn't want Sam to freak out or be overcome with grief. I just had a feeling this was going to be the day and I didn't want Sam to be able to say he didn't get to say goodbye. The dying process has been so taxing on him. He's already had to say goodbye to him three times only to watch Otis make these noble comebacks.

I dropped Sam at school and went downstairs to the Kindergarden where his mom teaches. I needed to let her know I was going to call the vet for an appointment to put Otis down. She had previously indicated to me that she would like to be there when it happened. Alice was Otis's mom before the divorce. I got him in our settlement, but she stayed in his life and was helpful when I went on the road for work. I understood why she wanted to be there but I warned her of the overwhelming sadness that comes in those final moments. She listened, but it didn't change her mind. I told her it would depend on Dr. J's availability and/or whether Otis' conditioned worsened throughout the morning. When I called, Dr. J said we could take the last appointment of the day - 5pm. This worked for Alice, and it also allowed me a full day to spend with my guy, should he hang in there.

I returned home to find Otis still panting. He wasn't swelling up as much as before, but I could tell he was in some discomfort. Soon the Benadryl kicked in and made him sleepy. I built a fire and placed his bed in front of it. I made some tea, grabbed my copy of Tuesdays With Morrie, and laid down beside him.

"Here's how my emotions go," Morrie told Koppel. "When I have people and friends here, I am very up. The loving relationships maintain me."

Morrie and Otis were not so unalike. Morrie understood the important things in life. He wasn't afraid to love or accept love. To display affection. To say the things that we humans have such a hard time saying, like "I love you." If Otis could speak he would be a broken record of I love yous. But as he lay there taking one deep labored breath after another I couldn't help but whisper it to him over and over again. His loving relationship has maintained me.

The clock moved at a rapid pace and before I knew it, it was 2pm already. I went up to take a shower, leaving Otis by the fire. The water washed over me and I began to cry. It was hitting me all of the little things that won't be there anymore. In this case, I was thinking about how Otis would never fail to be waiting for me to step out of the shower so that he could lick my lower legs dry. Such a strange tradition, I admit. But he loved it and I obliged. The water washed over me and I opened my eyes to find him standing there one more time. Somehow he made it up the stairs. I cried a little more, you know, for the effort. Then I turned off the shower and let him have his day. Luckily, he was a short dog and could never extend above my knees.

I got dressed and Otis managed to follow me back downstairs. In fact, I was surprised at how well he was getting around. Maybe I got the Benadryl into his system early enough to prevent major swelling and discomfort. At about 3pm I decided to see if Otis wanted to take a walk around the block. Sure enough, he followed. He even had a little pep in his step, although the tumor was bouncing only inches above the ground. Still, Otis managed to mark just about every damn tree around the entire block. I imagined he was reminding everyone just whose territory this really was. It was his. As it had been his for a long, long time.

When we returned home I grabbed my camera and his tennis ball, offering it up to see if he might grant me one more photo-op. I rolled the ball down the sidewalk and sure enough he went after it. Not with a sprint or even a trot, but a slow, dignified walk. He picked it up and returned to the spot where he goes when he's no longer interested in retrieving. Never has it been only one throw before he went to this spot. But he stood there for me, ball in mouth and allowed me my final shots. The one I posted on Friday was the very last shot I took of him with my Nikon camera. As soon as I snapped it I knew it was my final shot. Through my viewfinder I could feel that I had captured his essence.

We went back inside to find Nicole crying in the kitchen. Nicole wasn't ever the biggest dog lover in the world, and she tried her best not to fall into Otis's lovetrap, but she couldn't help it in the end. His grunts and snores and constant dragging of his nails across the hardwoods as he followed us around the house all day could fray the nerves. His breath and disdain for any form of hygiene could make you shake your head in wonder. But you had to hand it to him for his constancy. He was always there.

It was appropriate that we found our way down to the kitchen floor that Otis had kept so spotless for so many years. He picked up every scrap and crumb that ever fell from above. We sat there for awhile and just cried. He gave Nicole a little kiss, which kind of blew me away. Otis could win the heart of even the staunchest of cat people.

Alice came to pick me up and Nicole handed me a sandwich bag full of peanut butter filled pretzels.

"Take these with you," she advised.

Otis has always dreaded trips to the vet. He'd take a ride in the car anywhere in the world, but he always seemed to know when it was a ride to the vet. The peanut butter pretzels would be a welcome distraction.

On the way we drove past Grant Park and its expanse of green. Otis could spot a park from a mile away, and whenever we drew near his eyes would widen with expectation that surely this was our destination. This time however, his ears merely perked up a bit, obviously assuming this wasn't our destination. I began to cry once again, thinking to myself that I certainly didn't stop at the parks as often as he deserved. Regret is such an easy trap in the days of dying.

Alice asked if we had time to stop by the gas station. We were about ten minutes ahead of schedule so I said yes. She pulled in and once again Otie's eyes perked up. Throughout his life gas attendants have always been good to him. When the man came to Alice's window she ordered her gas and asked if he happened to have a dog treat.

"We're on our way to put our dog down," she confessed.

The attendant compassionately peered in at Otis then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the mother of all Milkbone treats. It was so large it reminded me of that magic trick when the magician pulls the handkerchief out of the hat and it just keeps coming and coming. This attendant must have had a trick pocket. I laid out a little towel across my lap and Otis devoured the Milkbone on top of it. All his life we never saw a milkbone that big. It was always the little ones they handed out. I cried a little more at the irony of it.

We left the station and made our way into southeast Portland. As we drove I recalled the story of the very first time we rode in a car with Otis. Alice picked me up from the airport after a work trip I'd made to LA. While I was down there I received a call from Otis's breeder letting me know he had a dog available if I was interested. I'll leave that entire story for another entry, but the short version is that I was interested and that the timing was perfect because I was in LA and Otis was born in Long Beach, which was a short distance from LAX.

I picked him up on my way to the airport and was able to smuggle him onto my Alaska Airlines flight inside a compartment of my carry on bag. He was a tiny little pup and these were the days before 9/11 when it wasn't so hard to smuggle more than three ounces of shampoo on board, let alone living creatures. The compartment had a flap that I could unzip that allowed enough air for Otis as we flew. The flight was pretty uneventful as Otis managed to sleep the entire way. It might have helped that he had gotten car sick on our way to LAX and wiped himself out. I should note that it was the first and only time that Otis ever tossed his cookies in a car.

We touched down in Portland and there was Alice waiting for us in our new used Land Cruiser. I jumped into the passenger seat and put Otis on my lap just as he was right now. I introduced the two of them and we made our way towards home. About three blocks from home I said to Alice, "Wow, it's amazing he hasn't gone to bathroom one time since we left Long Beach. And right at that moment I felt that unmistakable warmth seeping through my jeans. Yes, I remember the feeling of peeing my pants. Only this time it was Otis. And he peed a river, even filling that plastic pocket on the passenger side door.

We had indeed come full circle. Here we were pulling up to the vet where our long, unforgettable journey would end. But before it did I instructed Alice to go back a few blocks to another park we had passed on our way. I needed to give him one more jaunt. One more inhale for the road. One more chance to mark just a little more territory out of all the ground he had covered along the way.

We got out of the car and Otis trudged up a grassy knoll. He turned to us expecting to see his tennis ball raised high overhead ready for launch. His eyes widened in anticipation. Alice let it fly and off Otis went. He returned it with all the energy he could muster and set it down at my feet ready for another toss. That was the thing about Otis, there was nothing that could stop him when it came to throwing a ball in a park. I've always contended that he would have fetched until he expired had we not had the good sense to put limits on his heart.

But on this day, in this moment, I couldn't help but to feel guilty. How could I be only minutes away from ending the life of this dog who was obviously still so full of life?

"That's Otis," I reminded myself.

It didn't matter that he had a giant tumor impeding his way. Through sheer force of will, Otis would find his way around it. And I had to believe this, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to got through with letting him go.

I used my iphone to take a few final pictures of Otis in action. In them, he looks like a puppy again, the tumor blurred or obscured. Again, making it hard to justify the inevitable. Alice took my phone and snapped a couple shots of Otis and me together. I love them, but the miles are there on both of us.

It was time to enter the vet clinic now. I carried Otis in. He clung to me as if he knew something. We were directed to a room that had three or four blankets laid out on the floor for maximum comfort. I set Otis down and before I knew it he was staring at my coat pocket. That's where I had stuffed the pretzels full of peanut butter. Nicole's idea was ingenious. Otis was completely distracted from the reality of the situation.

I fed him one pretzel then another. Then another. And then another. His distraction was good for him, but it wasn't allowing either of us to say goodbye. He just wanted to eat, which again, made me question whether I was doing the right thing here.

"Just give him the whole bag," suggested Alice.

"Really," I questioned, as if that might be bad for him. Talk about irony.

So I set the bag down on the floor in front of him. He looked at me with the funniest face, part confusion and part disbelief. I couldn't tell if he was saying, "For real?" Or, "Ah, you big jerk. NOW? FINALLY?"

Otis devoured the pretzels and part of me hoped he would die of salmonella right there on the spot. But it wasn't to be. Dr. Judkins entered and looked down at Otis.

"Man, he looks pretty good," he observed.

"I knew you were going to say that," I replied.

"Oh, but look at the size of that tumor," he added, "I can't believe how fast it has grown."

We talked about realities. He listened as I talked of the life he had displayed in the last two hours. And I could hear myself, too. My answer was in my own words. What a way to go out. Dr. Judkins confirmed my words with his own. He told me that we could wait another week or two and eek out a few more good moments, maybe. But one more week or two more weeks at the end of such an epic life weren't going to mean so much to Otis, especially as the tumor continues to grow at such a rapid pace and cause who knows how much discomfort. In a week or two I could be bringing in a dog who had no dignity left. As it was, I was sending him out on top.

Then, before I could waver, Dr. Judkins pulled out a tranquilizer at administered a shot.

"This will make him real sleepy. I'll come back in about ten minutes," he said.

And with that, the hardest ten minutes of my life began. So many memories come flooding in. 13 years of memories to be exact. That's been my experience with pets. They represent a timeline. In this case, Otis represented my life's highest highs and lowest lows. My marriage to Alice. The loss of my mom. The birth of my son. A 17,000 mile journey through 48 states with my best friend, Seamus, sharing shotgun with Otis. The loss of my other best friend, Hawthorne. Divorce. Bachelorhood. Another marriage. Another baby. All of those things come flooding back. They race through your mind as though it is you yourself who is facing the "needle of oblivion". How could all of that happen in such a short period? Maybe that's why our dog's life spans or so short. Maybe they see too much, especially when you think of their capacity for compassion and love. When we are high, they are higher. And when we are low, they are lower. They take it all on. And that's gotta wear them out.

He lay there feeling the effects. Alice and I took turns whispering in his ear and stroking his head.

I thanked him for everything. Alice thanked him for being such a great big brother to Sam. I apologized for being neglectful and lazy. Alice told him she loved him. I told him he had a lot of friends waiting for him and to give them hell like he used to.

About five minutes into the tranquilizer Otis got up one more time and walked a wobbly circle around the room. "You can take the dog out of the fight, but you can't take the fight out of the dog," I remembered. He lay back down and we sobbed.

A few minutes later Dr. Judkins entered right on cue. He wrapped a thick black rubber band around Otie's hind leg and tightened it. Then came the juice. Otis raised and turned his head to look back at his leg. Then he lowered it back down on his front paws, resting in the same position he had his entire life. And then, all of the sudden, he was gone.

"Oh, fuck," I wailed.

It is absolutely palpable that moment a life ends. There is nothing more powerful or definitive.

Alice dropped me off at home and I went inside where I collapsed into the arms of Nicole. We cried it out for awhile until I couldn't cry anymore. It was then that I looked up and felt such an enormous void. This house was no longer the same. But it wasn't something I could only see. It was something I could feel. Rather, what I couldn't feel. I couldn't feel his energy anymore. It was his life force. It was gone. With him. And it's an energy that will never be replaced.

Alice called to ask if Sam could come spend some time with me. He, of course, was distraught. She dropped him off and he ran straight into my arms.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," he sobbed.

"Oh, but you did, Sam. You did," I replied.

I let him cry it out, too. And then we set out for a Root Beer float.

Otie's Last Stand

2009-01-30T19:01:00.001-08:00

He is gone. Our hearts are broken.

Forsake Me Not When My Strength Faileth

2009-01-25T23:19:00.000-08:00

Otis is still ticking. Since Inauguration Day - the day I had scheduled an appointment to let him go - he has been thriving, eating like a horse, drinking water, walking about in measured steps, even managing the stairs I was carrying him up and down when he needed to relieve himself.

The tumor obviously has a life of its own. Without warning, it decides when it is time to act up. When it does, it debilitates him as though he has been shot with a tranquilizer gun. He can't move. The two times when his tumor has reared its nastiest head have come over two day periods when Dr. Judkins has been out of the office. Had they been days when he was in, Otis wouldn't be here right now.

It seems the recovery time of an angry tumor is about three days. His body swells up with fluids due to the histamines shooting off. He loses his appetite for a spell, then, slowly he accepts certain foods I hide benadryl in. The benadryl combats the histamines and swelling, but makes him extremely sleepy. I don't think he's been in too much pain to this point, it's more his dignity that I'm keeping my eye on. When I last spoke to Dr. J we agreed it was time. But the morning of Inauguration Day Otis looked at me with plenty of dignity in his eyes. I immediately knew it wasn't time.

Sadly, the tumor won't stop growing. It's enormous, and it's obviously pressing on his bladder because he needs to go out to pee just about every half hour. The steroids make him thirsty, too, I believe. So it's this funny little routine of drinking water, walking around the house for a bit, then to the door, then back in for a little more water. The irony is that he's never been much of a water drinking dog and now that his bladder is being smooshed he can't drink enough of it!

As I feared before, I think the tumor is going to grow too large for him to maneuver around. He's already high-centering on it when he goes up and down stairs. It may not be the cancer that gets him, but the size of the tumor itself. Dr. J and I were saying that if we could just replace the back half of his body the front half could go on for years. That's what's so damn heartbreaking. His eyes and ears still have vitality and life.

That said, the next time the histamines start firing I'm going to have to let him go. The tumor is too big to allow for another recovery process, for when he recovers, the tumor will be that much larger and meaner. As it is, I wake up everyday wondering if it will be his last. As the day goes by, I'm learning to appreciate the moment more and more. I scratch behind his ear a little more often. I find more patience with his pacing around while the baby is sleeping, although I have to get a little stern with him when he continually attempts to bust through her bedroom door. You see, he likes to lay on her heater. And every time the furnace turns on he heads right for it. He can't hear me say 'no' so I have to run after him before he barges in and wakes her. So, yes, it's possible to still get upset with your dying dog. But hey, you got to take advantage of the minutes when the baby is down.

Here's a couple snaps of Otis. The first is from his early days. I'd say he was about four. The second is from last Monday, the day before Inauguration Day. He looks pretty spent, but he improved throughout the week. I wish he could start aging backwards like Benjamin Button.

Otis Loves Obama

2009-01-20T23:56:00.000-08:00

I woke up today thinking change. Even had a scheduled appointment for Otis. But the way he looked at me this morning told me today was not the right day. Perhaps he felt the energy of the day at hand. It had to be something, because he was a world away from yesterday and the day before. He walked down the stairs on his own. He ate heartily. He even rolled over on his back to give it a scratch. In short, on this day of dignity, he still had his. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

"Time Is The Least Thing We Have Of."

2009-01-18T18:24:00.000-08:00

Ernest Hemingway said that. And right now, it's never been so true.

I found Otis on the floor at the foot of Sam's bed this morning. It was early and Sam was still asleep. Otis looked up at me as if to say, "What, you expected me to stay in the kitchen all night?" I was happy to see him. And I felt bad for leaving him in the kitchen.

Olav the cat set him free in the night when he bulldosed his way through a door that doesn't latch properly. (It's an old house and I'm a lazy, ungifted handyman.) Anyway, Sam muttered from under his blanket, "He tried to climb up but he couldn't make it." I guess Sam must have been too tired to help him.

So he made it through the night and now he's made it through another day. He's also managing to keep down some left over mac and cheese that I'm hiding his steroids and the benadryl in. The benadryl's side effect is sleepiness, which I feel is a good thing for Otis now because his tumor has grown too large for his leg to maneuver around. So in one sense, the benadryl is acting as a type of morphine drip, if you will.

Tomorrow I plan to call Dr. J but I don't believe he'll be in. One, it's a holiday. And two, I don't think he works on Mondays. If he is in, I will need to take that most difficult drive. I have thought about doing it at home but something is telling home is not the right place right now. I kind of want to avoid the weight of the sadness and grief the final act would bring. There is already enough of it as it is. And I don't want our final vision of him to be the one where I put him down where he's always got up.

If tomorrow is not the day, then it will be Tuesday - Inauguration Day. The day of change. Only this change will be a lot harder to swallow.

When Do You Know It's Time?

2009-01-17T17:32:00.000-08:00

Otie's POV

My POV

For a house with plenty of rooms and comfort to be found, I tend to spend most of my time sitting where I am right now - on a trendy old French bistro style barstool at the counter in my kitchen. But right now I'm sitting here so that Otis can see me. He's bedridden. We're to the point where I have to carry him outside to relieve himself. He woke us up night before last needing to get outside immediately. I picked him up and scurried down the stairs and out the door just in time for him to vomit. Morning came around and he managed to swallow a few offerings, one of which I'd hidden 2mls of Neoplasene, which is the med that is supposed to combat the ever-growing tumor. He threw up immediately. I called Dr. J who asked me some questions then told me to stop giving him the Neoplasene. Otis was panting and any movement was too great an effort. Dr. J told me to try to get him to swallow two benadryls, which would help fight the histamines that were shooting out of the tumor and making him miserable.

I hid two benadryl in two pieces of salami, but Otis refused to take it. That alone should indicate how dire the situation is. I left them on the floor by his bowl in hopes that he would manage to get it down. In the meantime, I took trips carrying Otis in and out. He's pretty good at letting me know when he's going to puke. He kind of licks his chops like he's got peanut butter on the roof of his mouth. As soon as I hear the smacking, I run to him as fast as I can to pick him up and get him out. There is risk involved, of course. He could throw up on my feet or legs or hands, but that's nothing compared to trying to get it out of a shag carpet or sisal rug, the latter of which he doused later in the day. I thought it might have been because he ate the salami, but I soon found out that wasn't the case. That's because Huckle the cat was foaming at the mouth. Then she threw up! The evidence was plain to see. The house was suddenly a scene right out of Stand By Me when they held the pie eating contest that turned into a barf-o-rama.

I felt bad, but I decided to keep Otis in the kitchen over night. If he needed to get sick, he would have plenty of floor to do it on. And better to clean the marmoleum kitchen floor than any other. Part of me, I'm sad to admit, was hoping that he would slip away peacefully in the night. I'm sorry, but I just don't want to make that heartbreaking ride to the vet.

I came down in the middle of the night and sat with him for a spell, just to let him know I was there for him. His breathing wasn't labored. He seemed at peace. I told him he's been the best dog anybody could ever hope for. Then I went back to bed.

I returned in the morning to find he hadn't changed position, but his eyes were wide open and he looked happy to see me. He just couldn't move. I fixed breakfast while he stayed put. I made some bacon, which would be the true test, the way I figured it. If he refused bacon, then this would be the day. But he ate it. I hid some benadryl in some cheese and he swallowed that up. Then I put his steroids in a fried egg and he accepted that as well. About two hours later he made it to his feet and limped to the front door. There was a chill in the air, but the sun was out and I think it must have felt good to him. He stood motionless on the porch for about ten minutes before I picked him up and took him down the stairs to the grass where he properly relieved himself.

I took him back up to the porch where he stood for a good long while. I went inside and grabbed my camera for what I figured would be Otis' final photo shoot. He's had so very many throughout his life. I wouldn't be surprised if he were the most photographed dog on earth. In fact, the story of his entire life can be told through photographs. And what a life it has been.

God damn. God damn. That's all you can really say. This part is unbelievably difficult. I'm not talking about cleaning vomit or tending to his every move or feeding him hand to mouth. I'm talking about knowing when it is time. His eyes this morning didn't tell me he was ready, but I look at the aggression of the tumor, and his sudden incapacity to even move and I feel like I am doing him an injustice by waiting too long. Is he in pain? Is he dejected? Ashamed? Does he know what's happening? Two days ago he carried his trademark ball in his mouth. Yesterday and today he wouldn't think of it. The tumor has become so large. They say you can start can start to see the cancer when it gets real bad. I think can see the cancer now. It's black. It's what you imagine cancer to look like.

I don't want my dog to have to live like this, but I also don't want to let him go too soon. It's a horrible catch-22. There are so many catch-22s with cancer. In this case, removing the tumor is not an option. So you're only option is to fight the good fight, which you know cannot be won. All you can really do is slow it down as much as possible. So you fight it with things called neoplasene, but he hates the taste of neoplasene and tends to reject any food you attempt to mask it with. All the while the tumor slowly grows. Eventually it shoots off histamines that make him sick. Then, any neoplasene you manage to get down, he reacts to by throwing up. Then he loses his appetite all together and the tumor grows even faster because you can't combat it with the neoplasene.

The tumor is not quite to the point where it's rendering Otis motionless, but it's very close. I have a feeling that it's going to be the size of the tumor makes my decision in the end. It may not be the cancer that kills him, but the size of the tumor that makes him unable to move. So, as was this case this morning, his eyes may be happy to see me tomorrow, but his body could betray him.

I hope that an angel comes and takes him away tonight. I hope he closes his eyes and drifts away. I would be ok with that.

Here are some of the pictures and a couple videos I took of Otis these past few days. There's a sadness to them, for sure, but I've documented his entire journey so I need to include these as part of his story. Eventually you will see the entire journey from beginning to end. I'm sorry if these are hard to look at.

Utter Otis

2009-01-14T23:04:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to get a bit concerned. As you can see from the photo, the tumor is continuing to grow. With surgery not being an option, how long can a tumor grow before something needs to be done? This is heartbreaking stuff. Stairs are suddenly an adventure for the guy as the tumor gets in the way of his ascent and descent. And when he lays down he lays all cattywompous because it's obviously in his way. Or he is forced to lie on his right side only. But he likes to sleep on his belly. Other than the protruding nature of it, Otis is in pretty decent spirits. He's been carrying his ball in his mouth again and he's back to pinching the construction workers lunches at the end of the block on a daily basis. Today I heard one of them shouting at him to get out of something - most likely a bologna sandwich. The drugs are making Otis hungrier than normal, and he's already always been abnormally hungry. Hence the weight gain on top of the tumor itself. Tomorrow I will pay a visit to Dr. J for some refills on herbs and I will ask if surgery is something we should consider. I fear that going in and messing with the tumor could be the death of him, but we'll see what the good doctor has to say about it. If the tumor continues at this pace, I don't see what other option there is. Grrr...

This was Otis walking toward daylight this afternoon. I wanted to get a shot where you could see his miniature cow-like feature.

And then followed Olav, who before Otis got sick had absolutely zero interest in the old dog. Now he shadows him everywhere he goes. He even follows us on our walks. It's quite beautiful and makes you absolutely accept the cat without condition, which for this cat is saying A LOT!

The Revenant

2009-01-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

Otis is still pluggin' along. He even chased his tail today! The tumor is still growing, and unfortunately is beginning to look like an utter on a cow. Yeah, not too aesthetically pleasing. And I'm sure it doesn't help when it comes to catching his tail.

Here is my favorite poem on the subject of the dog. I keep it on my wall and read it often. Sometimes I hear Otis' voice when I read it.

The Revenant - Billy Collins

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--

that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.

Merry Otis?

2008-12-29T12:12:00.001-08:00

Well, the old dog is hanging in there. He gave us one more Christmas. A white one, in fact. The tumor seems to be growing again, and Otis seems to have slowed a bit, but I'm hoping it's simply the snow and cold temps that have him a bit...disinterested, shall we say. I'm reminded of a funny story my friend Seamus told me the other day about his dog, Jack. Jack is a West Highland Terrier who spent his long life in the comforts of Santa Monica, CA before recently moving with Seamus and his family to Minneapolis, MN. Seamus is married to one of Dustin Hoffman's daughters, and on Dustin's way east to do press for his upcoming movie he stopped for a visit. Seamus and his wife usually give Dustin a few funny stories about the grandkids so he has something to talk about other than the same ol' responses about the movie. This time Seamus told him how Jack is so offended by the sub freezing temps that when he or his wife open the front door to let him go pee, instead of going out, Jack walks up to the threshold, lifts his leg and pees on the door jam. I laughed so hard. And then, just like that, there's Dustin on Regis and Kelly relaying the story. I just wonder where Jack goes poo.

Back to Otis...here's a video and some snaps. Oh, yeah, one upside to the snow covered ground is that Otis has had no desire to trudge down the street and ransack his favorite dumpster. Well, it's an upside for me. It's more likely the reason he's seemingly down.

Ok, take the picture already and let me back in.

I'm not one for dressing a dog up or down, but you have to admit that Otis looks pretty damn good in a scarf.

So this is what they mean!

Cat, this is BS.

A coke and a smile, my ass.

My Little Dumpster Diver

2008-12-19T10:55:00.000-08:00

I know Otis has the Big C now and I'm supposed to be spoiling him rotten, but my goodness, the little guy sure can get on my nerves. I just don't think I can let him out on his own anymore. The coyote is one deterrent, but minor compared to his current obsession with the 3/4-full dumpster at the home construction site on the end of the block. Otis will walk to our front door and give me his "I gotta pee" look he's given me a million times, but I'm convinced now it's just a front for an opportunity to high-tail it down the street to harvest for gold. Two early evenings in a row now I've had to trudge down there in the slushy snow to spook him out of that damn collection of filth. Believe me, it ain't gold.

He crawls under the temporary barbed-wire fence that surrounds the property and he leaps up into the opened end of the dumpster. It's filled with lath and plaster, rusty nails, dry rot, wires and cables, all sorts of other debris, and discarded scraps from the workers lunches, which is what Otis is actually digging for. I literally found him burrowed beneath the lath and plaster chowing down on something buried underneath. And to make matters worse - and I don't know if I've mentioned this or not - he's gone completely deaf over the past three months! He never listened before, but now he has a built in excuse when he doesn't acknowledge my call. So imagine me there attempting to get his attention from the other side of the barbed wire fence. It's dark, he's buried, and I'm so steaming mad that I'm melting the snow beneath my feet. To boot, I'm standing in a neighbors garden which allows me the slope I need to get high enough to look down into the dumpster positioned in the driveway next door. I have to reach down with my hand to roll a snowball solid enough to throw towards Otis to get his attention, but not hard enough that it would mame him should I accidentally strike the bugger with it.

Fortunately, my toss hit in front of him and splattered debris and snow into his face. He looked up and spotted me and knew immediately he was in deep doo-doo. He climbed his way out of the hole, licked his chops, jumped out of the dumpster, ducked under the fence, and scampered away from me just in time to allude my right foot to his butt. He runs all the way home, barks at the front door hoping Nicole or Sam will open it up before I get there myself, then goes and takes refuge behind them. This does not delay his detention for long, and it's off to his bed in the kitchen where he must stay until I deem whatever he scavenged in the dumpster digested. I don't want it coming up on the shag rug in the living room, after all.

It just chaps me that he knows what he's doing is wrong. And he knows there are consequences, yet he does it every chance he gets, and sometimes, like today, he's even creating those chances. Man, if he hangs in here long enough that Stella starts crawling on the same floors he's walking on I don't know what I'm gonna do. After romps like in his video and what I've witnessed tonight, well, it's disgusting. Maybe I'll get him a pair of booties for Christmas.

What also chaps me is that I've been feeding Otis like a damn King for the past six years and he still feels a need to go hunt for cat poop in flower beds and lunch scraps in dumpsters. I began feeding Otis raw meat and organic vegetables over six years ago. It was the after the first bout with cancer that Dr. Judkins suggested I get Otis off of processed dog food and start him on raw meat. When I asked if he'd be able to handle it, he pointed out to me that dogs are carnivores and they've only been eating crappy dog food for 60 years. His point was that their system could more than handle it. And on top of that, Otis would be a lot more satisfied. Dr. J's feeling was that there's something that's causing all of these unexplained cancers and illnesses in dogs and cats, and he figured a lot of it probably had to do with processed pet foods. So, I bought into it. I figured it could only help. I also figured it wasn't going to be a long-term commitment. We'd already removed twelve little tumors for Otis and I figured there were more to come. But here we are six years and gobs of money and effort later and only now has the cancer returned.

I remember the first time I fed him the raw meat and veggies. He absolutely devoured it. Just like a carnivore, in fact. And when he was finished he looked up at me and I swear it was as if to say, "Geez, what the hell have you been feeding me all these years?"

Otis' coat took on an immediate shine. He's eyes literally sparkled. He suddenly had a ton more energy. And his poops were so perfect and firm that you could have played football with them. Ok, that's gross, but it's true. He was a whole new dog. And what was best was that he didn't grow a single new tumor.

So what I'm going to do now is take you through the process by posting some pictures of the lengths I go to keep this puppy alive and kicking. And by the end hopefully you too will feel my pain when it comes to his little scavenger hunts.

The preparation begins with a trip to New Seasons grocery store. When I first put Otis on the raw meat diet I used to have to go to the meat department in the back of the store and ask if they had any of their pet food in the freezer. Usually they did. It wasn't a mainstream item of day but they tried to keep stock in the back for the few like me who desired the carnivore route. Instead of tossing the meat scraps into the trash, someone had the bright idea of using them for profit, and believe me, I've contributed a lot of profit! My good money is paying for chicken gizzards, hearts, livers, backs and necks. Yeah, not many humans would want to eat this over a thigh or a breast, but dogs don't discriminate when it comes to raw meat, which is why cat and squirrel would be on most of their menus, too! Anyway, this meat has become so popular with owners that New Seasons built a cooler in the pets aisle and they've been stocking it for a couple of years now.

Carrots, yum. Maybe it's true what they say about carrots and eyesight. Otis can spot a table scrap from three houses away. Too bad they don't make a veggie for hearing.

I switch back and forth between green and red cabbage. Green is cheaper by the pound, but red seems to be more dense and last longer, both in shelf life and in the fridge itself. I suppose it's a wash. Either way, Otis eats both. He'll even eat cabbage by a la carte! One funny thing I like to do is feed Otis a piece of cabbage then take a picture of him while he's chewing it. Makes it look like he's talking. Hilarious.

I don't often feed him beets, I more just got them for this photo-op because they're pretty. He eats them too, though. There's not much he won't eat.

Again, the radish were more for the pretty picture. I don't often use "wet" veggies in his food because they tend to make the end result a bit too, well...wet. But again, Otis love a radish. He'll eat these a la carte as well.

Broccoli is a HUGE favorite of Otis'. Unlike President Bush(41), he LOVES broccoli.

I stick about a week supply of veggies into the Cuisinart and chop them all up. The photo above is not a weeks supply, I just thought it was pretty so I took the photo.

This is almost a weeks supply of veggies. I find that a weeks supply is about the distance the veggies can go in the fridge without getting a little too stinky by the time they're gone. So basically, I go through the shopping and Cuisinart process about once a week. You add that up over six years and perhaps you will appreciate my disdain for Otis when I find him rifling through a dumpster.

Green Alternative is the bomb. It provides all the vitamin and mineral goodness the meat and veggies might not. This includes Organic Flax Seed Meal, Spirulina(grown without chemicals), Organic Pumpkin Seed and Organic Garlic - as if Otis needs any help making his breath any worse.

This is what it looks like when it's ready to serve. And as you can see, Otis is always ready to go.

And go.

And this is what I mean by licking his chops.

You'll never believe this, but Otis just barked at the front door. He wants out. Damn him.

Whose Territory Is It Anyway?

2008-12-16T23:30:00.000-08:00

Tonight I let Otis out to relieve himself. Normally I go back to doing my thing and wait for Otis to bark once to alert me he wants back in. But this time I stayed at the front door and waited. I figured he'd be quick since there's still snow on the ground and it's so cold outside. He's a fair weather dog. But tonight he took a little longer than I expected. He sniffed around a bit. Peed. Pooped. Then for some reason he continued to loiter about. So I decided I better go out and check on him. And thank goodness I did because right there in my front yard stood Otis and a freaking coyote. A coyote! Right here in Northeast Portland! Sent chills right up my spine. I have no idea what his intentions were, and neither did Otis, obviously because he just stood there and looked at the coyote as indifferently as every other dog he's ever met. I think it kind of caught the coyote off guard. The whole scene caught me off guard. I shouted "Arrghhh" like some sort of drunk pirate, which startled the coyote and set him to moving on. I tried to get a shot of it with my iphone, but the coyote was too quick and disappeared into the night.

Herbal Otis

2008-12-13T19:06:00.001-08:00

Time for a long awaited Otis update. The old guy has made an unrivaled comeback. We went to spend some more money at the vet this week and were told that the way Otis is responding to treatment, he might just hang around for years to come. There is still no sense in doing surgery on the primary tumor since we have conclusive evidence that the cancer has spread about his body, but there's no telling how long his body will continue to function properly as long as the herbs keep doing the trick. And also, as I was lectured in a very nice way, the power of positive thinking goes a very long way. Doc told me that there's a huge difference in the health of the pets of people with a positive outlook versus the crabapples who whine, moan, worry and complain. His point to me was to stop fretting over whether Otis had two days, two weeks or two years and just be happy with the time we got. I told you Dr. J was a straight shooter. Then he brought out his camera and took our picture for a case study!

Anywho, here are some snaps and a breakdown of what all these herbs are all about. I'm no doctor, and I don't even play one on TV, so don't hold me to the facts, but I believe what I'm about to explain to be true.

NATURAL HYDROCORTISONE aka, Steroids. Natural steroids, not anabolic, which means Otis won't be gunning for the Tour De France this year, after all. I think this particular steroid comes from the adrenal glands of cows. There is nothing synthetic, which means Otis' head won't grow even bigger than it already is, and he won't be prone to temper tantrums and questionings on Capitol Hill. Natural Hydrocortisone is credited with stabilizing and breaking down the Mast Cell Tumor, and preventing the histamines from having their way with poor Otis. Without this miracle pill, Otis would already be marking territory in dog heaven.

Neoplasene combats swelling and histamines, which were the cause of all the swelling in the first place. It wasn't the tumor itself that caused Otis' 3am visit to the emergency room, it was the histamines that were being fired out of the tumor that caused it. Most likely, it was the needle biopsy of the tumor that angered it and caused it to react. For Otis, it was akin to having an allergic reaction to a bee sting. In hindsight, it would have been wise to start Otis on the steroids immediately after the biopsy, just in case the histamines went on a tear, which they did, and is why Otie woke me up in the middle of the night as if to say, "Uh, WTF, daddio?"

Also, Neoplasene slows growth of cancer. As it was explained to me, normal cells die off and are replaced by new ones. A tumor is basically a cell that won't die. That's a bad thing. So Neoplasene works to break the tumor down and possibly die.

Lotus is like newly fallen snow on a mountain the night before the skiers arrive - it's fresh powdery goodness. It's also the Chinese herb formula that Dr. Judkins concocted about six years ago after Otis' first go 'round with these pesky Mast Cell Tumors. We had Otis on Lotus for about a year before we decided he could survive without. Now that the cancer is back, he's back on and will stay on for the duration. This particular concoction is derived from old Chinese formulas, and prepared specific for Otis' pattern of symptoms, so says the good doctor. Again, tumors are stagnant, and this formula is meant to create energy in the tumor in order to treat the stagnation and possibly break it down, even.

This one is no fun but very important. It's no fun because twice a day I have to stick two dropperfuls into Otis' mouth completely against his will. It was easier when he had no energy to object, but now that he does I usually end up squirting it on the floor, my pants, the back of my hand, the wall, or in his eye. Anywhere but his mouth, it seems. The tincture is detox in case the tumor is actually breaking down. It cleans out toxins and makes him feel better. Of course, that's just my side of the story. Based on the whole experience of injecting it, he might tell you otherwise.

Next post we will cover Otis' diet and how he eats like a freaking king.

Woof. Out.

Meow Kitty

2008-12-11T10:07:00.000-08:00

Update on Otis. At this moment he is resting comfortably at my feet. I'm sitting at my desk and heard some purring and rustling behind me. I turned around to see Olav the cat using Otis' melon as a rubbing post. I grabbed my handy little Flip Mino and shot the scene. Here it is. (P.S. - I'll be posting later today to give a more detailed update on Otis' remarkable recovery. Gotta love the Chinese and their herbal ways!)

The Secret Life Of Otis

2008-12-05T22:49:00.000-08:00

I probably don't pray enough in my life. I'm not a church going guy, but I do believe in the power of prayer. I'm not sure who answers them, but I think somebody is listening. How else could you explain Otis' remarkable comeback? I guess you could also explain it as the power of steroids and mysterious Chinese herbs, but I suspect it's a combination of all of it.

So, when Otis got so sick, I was disappointed in myself that I never went through with my plan to rig my video camera onto him so that I could see where the hell he goes and what the hell he does when I let him roam free. All I know is that he disappears into the neighborhood and reappears sometime later. I've had a sneaky suspicion that he hits the usual dumping grounds of the neighborhood cats, and I know he loves sneaking into the construction site down the street on the corner where all the workers set their lunches down in pinchable positions. The construction has been going on for the entire summer and now into winter. It's a haven for Otis, and it's a miracle that a backhoe or a rusty nail hasn't already claimed him.

Anyway, Otis has somehow gone from deathbed to marching to the beat of his own drum in a matter of 48 hours. I woulda bet a healthy sum of money that Otis wasn't going to wake up on Tuesday morning based on his condition on Monday night. He wasn't eating, drinking or able to walk. I couldn't even touch him because he was in too much pain. And now, as you'll see in the video, he's back to being Otis - the most famous and lovable dog in the hood, with nary a sign that cancer is on it's own march.

I don't want to give too much away in the video, but I will say that the 11 or so minutes pretty much sums up who he is. As I suspected, he looks into a couple hot spots in the neighbor's yards, but he also finds people to approach, some are strangers, and some are longtime fans. The first group he encounters are four Comcast workers who were just standing around outside their vans, which is why, I suspect, we are all waiting for them from anytime between 8 and noon. Then there are some old girlfriends who spot him and their dog barks at him. Otis, of course, pays no mind. Then he heads for the construction site where you see they're obviously familiar with him, and he is obviously familiar with their surroundings. Then I think he finally finds some kitty roca. Then he discovers something under plastic but I'm not sure what, and I'm not sure he knows either.

Then, as always, he makes his way home.

And now, when the prayers and herbs stop working, I can always take this walk with him.

It's A Matter Of Life And Death

2008-12-03T22:41:00.000-08:00

I was talking to my friend Peter today about the experience of life and death and how one begets the other. When Otis got sick I couldn't help but remember when my Mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. We found out only weeks after it was learned Alice was pregnant and I was going to be a dad for the first time. My mom was given 3 to 18 months to live. Our goal was to get Sam born before she passed on. Thankfully, we made it and my mom was able to hold Sam in her arms for the first couple months of his life. I remember it feeling like a sort of hand off, as if my mom was saying, "your turn." Peter's point to me was that one life replaces another. Now, I realize Otis isn't a human. Yes, he's a dog. But he is a life. An extremely important life. He is family. In fact, in these past heavy days, Sam has referred to Otis as his only brother. So I find it not so surprising that Otis is getting ready to say goodbye now that Stella has arrived. And it's probably pretty obvious to him that it's "Stella's turn."

A little story about Monday night when we thought Otis was leaving us. He was lying in his spot at the end of Sam's bed. He was laboring to breath. His eyes were heavy and rolling back in his head. Sam was certain Otis was dying and gave him permission to "let go." He was distraught. Then, alarmingly, he said to me, "Daddy who's that? Who's that?!" He was pointing toward the wall to the right of his bed.

"Where," I asked from my position to his left.

"Right there," he pointed, "Who is that sparkly man? Is he coming to take Otis?"

I saw nothing before he disappeared from Sam's sight too. But Sam quickly grabbed his drawing pad and feverishly drew the figure pictured above. It was truly amazing to watch it take shape. It was almost as if it drew itself. The man was holding a staff which turned out to be a harp. And then there was the leash that wrapped it's way up his arm. The man's eyes were closed.

Now hear me out. I actually think Sam saw something. Just before my mom passed away I saw something very similar. She was lying in her bed at the hospice house. It was 6am and my dad was sleeping in a reclining chair next to her. One of my brother's was asleep on the floor, and I was lying in the window sill on top of an air conditioning vent. We'd been at my mom's bedside for two or three days. We'd all given her permission to leave but she held on a little longer than they thought she might. Suddenly, I shot up out of my sleep and looked across the dark room towards the open door to where I saw a beautiful flowing feminine figure floating in the hallway looking toward me. After a beat, she gracefully floated away. I jumped down from my position and raced to the door. I looked down the long, dimly lit corridor to see absolutely nothing. As I stood there wondering what I saw, my dad softly spoke the words, "She's leaving us."

My dad and brother got up and we all gathered around her bedside. She took three more breaths and stopped. At once, there was this palpable presence hovering above us. It was one of the coolest things I've ever experienced. And to this day I 100% believe that the figure I saw was either my mom giving us one last look, or some type of angel coming to take her away. You'll never convince me otherwise.

And so when Sam saw this sparkly man, I couldn't doubt that what he saw was true. All signs pointed to Otis leaving in that moment, but Sam prayed hard for "just one more day." I think both that angel and Otis(and maybe the steroid) conspired to answer Sam's prayer.

Otis has given Sam two days now and he's seeming to gain more and more strength. When I got home from work tonight he even wagged his tail.

You Can Take The Dog Out Of The Fight, But...

2008-12-02T14:34:00.000-08:00

I took Otis to see the good doctor this morning. Dr. Judkins is the greatest. He has my full endorsement. He's a straight-shooter, puts the animals health and well-being first, and always seems to have an optimistic outlook and mindful game plan.

I was certain that Otis wasn't going to make it through the night. Once he did, I felt a little more hope. Still, when I left for the vet's office, I wasn't sure he'd be coming home with me. But then I watched him put his nose to the door(see photo above) and I realized he still had some fight. That door is the only way out.

Dr. J didn't sugarcoat it when he told me Otis could shut down anytime because the cancer has spread. Furthermore, the main tumor is firing off histamines at will. As I understand it, the histamines are what are causing most of Otis' discomfort. So he came up with an assortment of Chinese herbs and tinctures to fight against the histamines and ease his pain. And the steroids he prescribed yesterday have obviously already done wonders in getting him back on his feet. I'm thinking next stop, Tour De France.

I kid. But I would relish the opportunity for one more Christmas. That would be the greatest gift. Dr. Judkins thinks it's totally possible. For now, we take it day by day. Otis will let me know when it's time, but in the meantime, we'll try to get back to a sense of normalcy, although I do plan to spoil him rotten in the process. Maybe that is all the incentive he needs.

Prayers Answered

2008-12-02T09:22:00.001-08:00

It was another long one, but Otis made it through the night. He even got to his feet this morning and accepted the leftover turkey in which I hid his meds. Now we're off to the vet to see if we can't buy some more time and comfort. Now that we got him through the night, all we're asking for is one more Christmas. Then we'll take it from there.

"Livin' on Borrowed Time" - John Lennon

2008-12-01T22:52:00.000-08:00

As I feared, last night was not without drama. Otis woke us up in great distress and I found myself at the Dove Lewis Pet Hospital at 3:45 in the morning. They stabilized poor Otis before an ultrasound revealed the cancer has spread to Otis' spleen and beyond. Surgery would not even be an option. My next step, if we make it through this night, is to take Otis to see Dr. Judkins and determine if steroids might buy our boy some comfort and time. Presently, Otis is resting peacefully at the foot of Sam's bed, where he has rested countless nights before. Only this night it's different. Sam and I tearfully said our goodbyes to Otis, just in case he needs to move on. Sam, bless his heart, told Otis all on his own that it is ok for him to let go. I can guarantee that it was the single most difficult thing he has ever done. But it didn't stop us from saying a night time prayer where we asked for at least one more day. Is there anything more gut-wrenching than losing a longtime pet? Where does this emotion come from? As I said in the previous post, I thought I'd been preparing myself for this. Trust me, you can't prepare. Throw in a distraught ten-year-old son who speaks to his dog some of the most honest and poignant words you'll ever hear and you see the injustice of the brief lifespan placed on such a wonderful creature.

Anyway...

...here is one of my favorite poems:

Dharma

by Billy Collins

The way the dog trots out the front door

every morning

without a hat or an umbrella,

without any money

or the keys to his doghouse

never fails to fill the saucer of my heart with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example

of a life without encumbrance--

Thoreau in his curtainless hut

with a single plate, a single spoon?

Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off he goes into the material world

with nothing but his brown coat

and his modest black collar,

following his wet nose,

the twin portals of his steady breathing,

followed only by the plume of his tail.

If only he did not shove the cat aside

every morning

and eat all her food

what a model of self-containment he

would be,

what a paragon of earthly detachment.

If only he were not so eager

for a rub behind the ears,

so acrobatic in his welcomes,

if only I were not his god.

Cancer's Return

2008-11-30T21:20:00.000-08:00

I named this blog Wednesdays With Otis because I felt like I was on borrowed time with my dear dog. I think I already wrote about that. I know I at least mentioned the cancer he had: those pesky Mast Cell Tumors. Well, it was this past Wednesday in fact, that I noticed a rather large bump on Otis' belly underneath his rear left leg. It was alarming to me because it came out of nowhere and it was about the size of a baseball and just as hard. I immediately called Dr. Judkins' office to see if they could get me in. The best they could do was early Friday morning. The Thanksgiving Day Feast came and went and I was sure to give Otis a proper amount of bird, just in case the news in the morning was bad. And it was. So bad. Dr. Judkins stuck a needle into the mass and came back moments later to inform me that the mast cell tumor had returned with a vengeance. The good doctor laid out my options. First and foremost we would need to operate. Otis is an otherwise very healthy 13-year-old dog so we both agreed it would be worth it to operate. He mentioned radiation and chemo, but both he and I ruled it out based on the diminishing quality of life versus his current age. That, and I just don't want to put Otis through it. So the plan would be to put Otis on some chinese herbs which seemed to do the trick the last time we went through this six years ago. Dr. Judkins does surgeries on Thursdays but his schedule was all booked up so he told me he'd come in on Wednesday to do it. I was very appreciative of that, but now, two days later, I'm wondering if Otis is going to make it that long. He seemed fine enough yesterday, but today he showed behaviors I'd never seen from him before. For one, he wouldn't come to me when I asked him to. He walked away very very slow and gingerly, I think because he didn't want me to touch him due to the pain. The second thing he did was refused his dinner. That's when it all crashed in on me. The tumor seems to have grown since Friday and the redness is getting darker and spreading. Also, I should note, Olav the cat walked up to him yesterday and sniffed at his right hind leg. I went to investigate and found what seems to be yet another tumor. I was amazed that Olav did that, and sad about Otis' prospects. So tonight I built him a fire. He lay right down in front of it, delicately positioning himself so that the tumor was out of his own way. I tried to take a few photos of him but I couldn't see through my viewfinder because of my tears. He looked so sad and done. And I swear to God I saw a tear under his eye. That's when I really lost it. The thought of losing him hit me like a Mack truck. I'm just not ready for it. Yes, I feel like we've been living on borrowed time, but even so, it's not enough. And lying there with him I realized I could be so much better to him. I couldn't help but whisper, "I'm sorry" over and over again. I was petting him gently and I could feel him appreciating it, but as I was doing it I was realizing that I never do it when all is well. Sure, I give him little rubs and scratches behind the ears, but never for a long enough period to where I could actually say I was generous with my time. That's what's fucked. I'm always on the go, doing this or that. Sure, he's often there beside me, but is that good enough?Lying there next to him tonight I sure as shit felt like it wasn't. I felt like I'd totally failed him. I suppose it's a good lesson to apply to others in my life, but I want more time to apply it to Otis.

I'll be calling Dr. Judkins office first thing in the morning if Otis makes it through the night. I'm not so sure he will. If he does, I will ask if it's possible to schedule the operation sooner, whether it's with Dr. J or someone else. I fear it cannot wait. Here are a few photos I took of Otis after I regrouped. His life has been one long picture book. I intend to tell his life's story through those pictures here on this blog.

One more Christmas, please.

You can see the tumor there on his belly. I don't want my boy to die.

A Love Video

2008-11-02T00:57:00.000-07:00

I've come to the end of a month-long paternity leave from work. It has been sooooooooo great. The primary purpose of my paternity leave was to be a daddy to my newborn, Stella, but it's also been a great opportunity to spend countless hours with Otis, who I've already described as in the twilight of his days. Today I shot a video to show some visual evidence of our relationship. I'd call it unique, but I suppose many others can relate. I won't wax on about it because I kind of narrate it as I go. I'll just say that Otis is going to miss me on Monday. Or maybe he won't. Maybe my temporary absence will be a sense of relief.

Blessed Otis

2008-10-22T21:35:00.000-07:00

It was a little more than nine years ago that Otis reached the pinnacle of his life. He of course didn't know it at the time. I had taken him on a 17,000 mile journey around America with my BFF Seamus Culligan. I was making a book called Dog Bless America and it was my intention to photograph at least one dog from every state. Before it was all said and done, Otis had marked territory in 48 states. Here is a journal entry from our time in New York City, which was just about the very middle of our trip.

*****

And God said, "Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky." So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them, saying, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth." And God said, "Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind." And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good. (1:20-25)

Well, the epiphany has happened. I half expected that it would sometime along this trip. And it did today. At the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine during the Feast of Saint Francis – an annual "party" to which all creation is invited, including the animals. Much like many of the people we’ve met on our journey, Saint Francis was a man of profound hospitality and broad welcoming spirit, and it is because of these fundamental qualities he is celebrated as this party’s host. As is the good timing of most of our trip, this celebration fell on the weekend we just so happened to be passing through. We heard it was quite an amazing sight and one we’d be sinners to miss.

When we arrived at the church – the massive and beautiful church – the people and the pets were proceeding their way in. My first job was to get tickets to get in and Seamus’ was to capture the insanity of the moment on tape. There were dogs everywhere. There were cats too. And iguanas. And Pythons. And birds. And ferrets. But mostly there were dogs. Hundreds of them. I heard someone counted one thousand of them. And they all peacefully filed into the church, one right after the other. If it wasn’t God that was orchestrating this peaceful procession of animals, then I don’t know who it could have been.

Seamus fired away while I received the disturbing news that they had just run out of tickets. Before I had time to panic, the kind ticket-master told us to wait at the roped off area at the bottom of the church steps and we would probably make our way into a standing room only scenario. This was good enough for me as long as we could get in.

And get in we did. There were approximately 5000 people, 1000 dogs and numerous other creatures as a result of God’s blessing to be fruitful. We walked into this magnificent church with all the animals behaving so well and my jaw just dropped. It was easily one of the coolest sights I'd ever seen. The service began with Seamus nowhere to be found. The ceremony opened with a welcome from the Dean of the church and next thing we new we were witnessing something I would have paid very good money to see. And I’m talking more than the two bucks I dropped in the hat when it came by. The mission statement for the Church of Saint John the Divine says that in the spirit of Christ, it is chartered as a house of prayer for all people and a unifying center of intellectual light and leadership. The Cathedral serves the many people of their City, Nation and World through an array of liturgical, cultural and civic events. Their theology supports the values of community, hospitality, witness and stewardship, which undergird this mission. Don’t ask me what all of this really means, but if I knew a religion like this growing up, I wouldn’t have been kicking and screaming all the way to Sunday school.

There was singing and dancing and pleas for help for the homosexuals of Uganda who face life in prison if it is discovered that they are gay or lesbian. There was live music that I swear could be number 1 on the Billboard charts if they wanted to release a CD. It was so damn good. There were African American dancers and men in masks parading up and down the aisle on stilts no less! There were ballerina dancers who seemed as if they were floating in air. And there were prayers that actually made sense! Where was Seamus? Was he capturing this? No one would believe me if I just wrote it in an e-mail, I thought. He had to be getting this. He’d better be getting this.

At one point the man spoke of Jesus Christ. He said Jesus was born and his mission was one of love. He wanted to gather people. He wanted everyone to get along. He wanted to give love and be loved. As I listened to these words I looked around for Otis. I couldn’t see him. I looked behind me and there he was, on the lap of this total stranger – a man legally blind, and he was licking him all over his face. Here was the epiphany. The celebration of the animals. The celebration of Otis. Everything the man was saying about Jesus Christ could also be said about Otis. Mind you, please don’t think I am taking anything away from Jesus, but just look at this dog of mine. He’s a loyal dog, I guess, but he’s more interested in making other people happy, making other people smile. He gathers people. They look at him and say, "My what an interesting dog." He snorts and they laugh. He wags his tail and they pet him. I’m pretty sure I could have walked away from Otis at that moment and he would have continued to find love and happiness and give love and happiness for the rest of his life. I like to think that he would miss me, but I’m pretty sure he would survive. For Otis, like Jesus, it’s all about the love.

As for me, I would just love to know where Seamus was. After communion it was time for the blessing of the animals. What we were about to see next was something I hope everyone that’s reading this gets to see once in their life. If you’re an animal lover, you’d die with glee. Down the aisle walks an elephant. Following the elephant is a camel. Following the camel a Lama. Then an ox. Then a pony. Then a duck. And on and on and on. They just kept coming. It was Noah’s Ark only in single file. "Please, Lord, let Seamus be capturing this," I prayed. At this point I went to the front of the church where before the communion there had been more security. Polaroid in hand, I walked with purpose right past three usher men. Next thing I knew I was right up front, standing directly behind a very small group of people with cameras on a raised platform designated specifically for them. I then looked up and my prayers were answered. There was Seamus, front and center, capturing it all. "Hallelujah," I exclaimed. I would ask questions later. No need to bother him now. He was in a zone.

So I started firing away with my Polaroid. The light inside was a little funky so I asked the guy next to me for a reading off of his meter.

"If you want to expose for the elephant go 4.5 at a 30th. The camel 4.5 at a 60th. And be sure to get my boss in the shot," he said.

"Who’s your boss," I ask.

"Bruce Weber," he states.

"Holy shit," I scream in my own mind.

Here was Seamus Culligan capturing it all and right next to him is Bruce freakin’ Weber. For those who may not know, Bruce Weber is huge in the field of photography. He’s also pretty huge in real life, but that’s another story. Anyway, the guy was firing away like nobody’s business and I made sure to get him in one of my shots. Perhaps one day I will reach his stature. Not his size, hopefully, but his stature. You should have seen him work. He would take a picture, lift the camera up in the air, his assistant would take it out of his hands while another assistant would replace it with another camera. He must have had four assistants working around him like clockwork. All the while Mr. Weber would maintain his focus on the subjects in front of him. It was a beautiful thing. Had I not been in so much awe I probably would have got a couple more shots of the animals. Still, I managed to get a couple of good ones – including one of "the man" himself.

At this point one of the ushers at the church instructed everyone on the platform that if they wanted a shot of the animals coming out of the church they would have to go now. I stayed behind because I was more interested in dogs, but Seamus and Bruce and his crew bolted out of there as quick as lighting. It was perhaps the funniest sight I’ve seen on the trip: Seamus, in all his glory, being escorted to yet another platform outside with Bruce Weber and other members of the press. Later, I asked Seamus how he pulled it off. He said he went in and just walked up like he knew what he was doing. When the woman asked him for his press-pass Seamus responded simply, "I’m doing the documentary." No questions asked, from then on it was cart blanche.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the little park adjacent to the church where a number of priests blessed the animals one by one. What with only being about halfway done with our trip I figured it would be a good idea to get young Otis blessed for at least the duration of the journey, if not the rest of his life. Before the day was over Otis had been blessed by three different priests. I figure in Dog blessing’s that’s twenty-one times, which I think should cover him for the duration of the trip, if not his entire life’s journey. All in all it was an unforgettable day. And as the Dean himself spoke, "Only in New York."

Happy 13th Birthday Otis!

2008-10-16T23:00:00.000-07:00

Otis turned 13 today. I put this hat on him because I thought it brought him a little dignity. I doubt he agrees, but one thing about Otis is he's always been a good sport. Side note about this hat, a friend gave it to me to give to my son, Sam. He told me Fergie wore it in a music video he produced. I wonder if it looked as good on her. Otie is one stylin' pup. Anyway, we celebrated with some raw meat and table scraps. Now he's laying in his bed snoring like he's 13 x 7. Happy Birthday, you old dog.

The Beginning

2008-09-30T11:09:00.000-07:00

The only reason Otis came along to us was because he had a fault. A tiny little pink spot on his nose. If you look, you wouldn't even see it. But you're probably not a judge with a discerning eye. Otis' daddy was a show dog champion. So was his granddaddy. And there were high hopes for Otis, too, but one little pink spot made all the difference. I met his breeder at a dog show at the expo center in Portland. I was in the market for a dog that would be good with kids. Alice and I were planning on a child one day and we didn't want to fall in love with a dog who didn't want to share the attention and space. We went to the show because word had it there would be every type of breed known to man there. And it seemed there was. But there was one breed in particular that struck us peculiar: The Staffordshire Bull Terrier. There was a line-up of 'em. About twelve in all, each sitting there contentedly, as if they were actually smiling up at you. And they had the cutest little snort as though they were trying to say something, like "take me home with you, please!" But these Staffys were show dogs without imperfections. I asked the breeder for his card, but he was sure not to give me much hope. His dogs were highly sought after and people were willing to pay top dollar with hopes of bringing home a Best in Show.

On a whim, I called him a few months later. He informed me that one pup of his latest litter was born with a tiny fault and that he might consider selling him to me if the fault didn't correct itself over the coming days. He lived in Long Beach, California and I informed him I'd be down there the following week and I'd give him a call. Lo and behold, Otie remained imperfect, which isn't to say he came cheap! I gave the fellow $500 and off I went to the airport. The fella's last words to me were, "Hey, if you think you're going to neuter him, please don't. I will give you your money back." Realizing I'd paid him cash and he didn't have my phone number, I assured him I wouldn't. Six months later, Otis would lose his ability to sire a show dog champ. He had officially become domesticated.

My Dying Dog

2008-09-20T09:46:00.001-07:00

I feel like Otis has been dying for nearly six years now. He was diagnosed with cancer in 2002. His vet removed twelve Mast Cell Tumors under the guise that left untouched, the cancer would spread into his bloodstream and he would die. We did two rounds of surgery on him. After the second surgery he looked like the Staffordshire Bull Terrier version of Frankenstein. I counted 120 stables in his body, keeping his multiple incisions closed and protected from infection. The vet told me that the tumors would most likely continue to grow, blaming it on the breed itself. I was led to believe that Otis was doomed because "his kind" was susceptible to MCTs.

Not only did Otis look like a version of Frankenstein, worse yet, he was depressed as hell. He didn't sign up for this, and I, his devoted human, was determined to not make him go throw another surgery. I had already decided that I would rather just let nature take its course than put him through more pain and grief.

It was at this point I sought out Dr. Judkins, a veterenarian with a holistic approach and a healthy disdain for the makers of processed dog foods.

"The first thing you gotta do," he told me, "is get Otis off of whatever dog food you're feeding him."

When I replied that I only feed him the highest quality dog food he basically informed me that there is no such thing. He told me that dogs are carnivores and they've only been eating "dog food" for 60 years or so. He was convinced that dog food is the culprit for most of the unexplained cancers and health issues in dogs these days. "So it's not that it's his breed that's susceptible," I asked. To which he replied, "I don't see why Otis couldn't live a happy 14 or 15 years on the right diet."

That's all I needed to hear. He told me where to go and what to get. And before I left he prescribed some chinese herbs with instructions to sprinkle a little over each meal. I don't have a clue what the herbs were, but I went with it. I was desparate.

Otis never grew another tumor. Going on 13 now, Dr. Judkins told me recently that Otis has the healthiest blood-work he's ever seen in a dog his age. Still, he is 13, and that's old. After the surgeries I never imagined Otis would make it this long. As far as I'm concerned, he's been living on borrowed time since I first discovered the Mast Cell Tumors. I believe the book on his breed says his life expectancy is 12-14 years. That gives him one more year, but I feel like I've already had him for five one more years.

I remember when he healed from the surgery. I figured his time was running out so I started spoiling him rotten. I let him beg for scraps. I let him have the run of the house when I was out. I let him sleep at the bottom of my bed at night...UNDER THE COVERS! Then I noticed something wasn't happening. I noticed Otis wasn't dying. In fact, I noticed light in his eyes, a shininess in his coat, and a pep in his step. I remember the first time I fed him the raw meat and veggies. He took one bite, stopped, and looked up to me as if to say, "What in the hell have you been feeding me all these years?"

This blog is going to document the final year of Otie's life. It is my highest hope that his final year will turn into one and two and three more. If his blood work is so healthy, why can't he live til he's 16? The blog will be a biography of Otis' life. It will recount his trip around America, when he marked trees in the 48 contiguous states. It will have weird little tidbits about Otis, like how he waits for me to get out of the shower so he can lick my shins and feet dry every morning. And it will be a form of cookbook for other humans out there who might be interested in improving the health and extending the lives of their own dogs.

Tails From Katrina!

2008-09-11T09:17:00.000-07:00

Hi there. Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! At this blog site you will eventually learn everything there is to know about my dog Otis. But you're probably here right now because you heard me on the radio this morning with Mikel Chase. If you're interested in buying a copy of Tails From Katrina, please feel free to email me at jeffs@wk.com. The book is $35 and all of the money goes to the Oregon Humane Society. All of it! I'm attaching a picture of the cover of the book. I'm very proud of the book itself. It's full of beautiful dogs and cats. To think what these animals had to endure before their rescuers arrived, it can break your heart. But they survived. They are survivors in every since of the word, which makes for a very hopeful and inspiring experience as you flip through their pages.