Greetings From The Badlands

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!

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!

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

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

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.

I could have done more.

I could have done more.

Odes to Otis

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.

Otie's Last Stand

He is gone. Our hearts are broken.

Forsake Me Not When My Strength Faileth

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. 

"Time Is The Least Thing We Have Of."

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.

Utter Otis

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!

Merry Otis?

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

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 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.