My Dog Stares Me Awake at 4:00 AM

My dog Winston sleeps a lot.  It's his third favorite thing after chasing his ball and waiting for his ball to be thrown.

Recently though, he's developed an unsettling habit of staring at me at 4:00 AM.  It works like this.  An ominous feeling enters my dreams.  I sense a presence.  Wake up panicked.  And then realize it's my dog.  

Perhaps my dog senses my deeply held fears of sleeping.  I've always had trouble sleeping, since I was a little kid.  I think it started in second grade when my babysitter let me watch Freddy Krueger and I learned that demonic janitors wanted to attack me in my sleep.

Preferred by babysitters everywhere.  

Then in 4th grade I read Goosebumps.  The book that really got me was about a boy that tortured ants, who then came back to torture him.  I never tortured ants, but my house had a lot of bugs so it struck a chord as I was trying to fall asleep at night.

As I got into middle school, my parents decided that watching X-Files every Friday night would be a thing.  Even the neighbor kids would come over and we'd make milkshakes as if the show wasn't the most terrifying thing a 12 year old could watch.  It was then I developed my fears of alien abduction, which are very much with me today.  In particular one scene that haunts me still:

A car is driving in the woods.  Out of nowhere, there is a bright light.  A UFO is hovering over the road.  The car shuts down.  Out come two creatures, short, with bulbous heads.  Humanlike, but clearly not human.  One approaches the drivers window.  There is a pause that seems to last forever.  Suddenly the alien shoots its hand out towards the window.  Fade to black.

So when my dog is staring at me at 4:00 AM, this is who I'm really picturing.

I have to pee.  Take me outside, take me outside, take me outside!

My Dog Hates the Vacuum and Loves the Lawn Mower

My dog proves the truth to many cliches.  Take the vacuum cleaner, he hates it.  It scares him senseless.  Ironically he's the reason it's out so much.  I've told him repeatedly that if he'd stop shedding, he'd almost never see the vacuum, yet my words go unheeded.

Winston is scared of most loud things.  My leaf blower for example.  But there is one he loves.  The lawnmower.  Yes, the one machine that can actually cause him harm he thinks is the greatest thing on earth.   When I roll the lawnmower out, he stops sniffing whatever he's sniffing and starts sprinting back and forth as fast as he can.  This is the kind of behavior he only exhibits around other dogs he likes, or when I or my girlfriend come home from work.

Surely, you exclaim, once you start the mower he runs away.  You're wrong!  He sprints back and forth the entire 15 minutes it takes me to mow the lawn.  Totally fearless, he zings past my lawn mower like Tom Cruise buzzing the tower in Top Gun.   

One one of my dog's many similarities to Tom Cruise.

Toby

Like any true American, I love the Office.  It arrives at gut-busting funniness through the perfect blend of relatable and off-the-wall.  Somehow along the way, these people become friends in a frighteningly real sense.  I care for them.  Watching Jim and Pam's wedding again on Netflix recently, I thought to myself, "only on this show not only do I accept this crazy nonsense, but I love it so much it makes me want to cry."


This is what brings a 30 year old man to tears.

Of course, nothing we do in this world is without consequences, good or bad.  Unintentionally, my dog Winston--who never leaves my side--has been exposed to hours of the Office and has irrevocably absorbed elements of the show.  In particular, the Michael-Toby conflict.

If you know the show, you also know the unexplicable Michael-Toby animosity that ranges between awkward and hilarious.  Winston has watched this behavior, and is mimicking with out neighbor dog: a slightly doopy brown lab named Toby.

Toby isn't neccesarily a bad guy.  He's about a year older than Winston, and much smaller.  He was Winston's best friend.  Nothing delighted him more than running over to Toby's yard to wrestle and play.  He wouldn't even come when called, I literally had to drag him away..

Thing changed slowly.  Winston grew bigger than Toby, and Toby started complaining that Winston played too rough.  Toby responded by passive-aggressively sneaking onto Winston's porch and eating his food whenever he could.  Winston lost a lot of respect for Toby, and felt that sickening disappointment that comes when we realize our heroes are not who we made them out to be.    Watching the Office, Winston suddenly related to Michael Scott as he dealt with his own Toby.  This one.


I actually like Toby.
While I take a more nuanced approach to Toby's, Winston was fed up.  He howled furiously at the door whenever Toby came by.  The days of romping happily with Toby in the sunlight and green grass were gone, forever.  Now, whenever Toby prances by preening like an oversized weiner dog, Winston raises his hackles and barks. 

A shock collar and an electric fence keep Winston in my yard, and Toby knows this.  He will go right up to the line, taunting Winston.  As Michael would say, Toby is the worst.



How Winston saw Toby before



How Winston sees Toby now

Dogs Really are Man's Best Friend, and the NSA Really Does Suck. Stuff I Read and Things I Think

This article makes me smile.  When you yawn, your dog has a physiological response and gets tired with you.  I've noticed it with Winston.  If he's not hungry or doesn't have to go take a grumpy, his mood will match mine exactly.

If I'm in bed watching Netflix, he's laying down taking a nap.  I'm on the couch writing this blog, he's laying on his back frozen like a weirdo.  And when I get excited, man oh man, does he get excited too.  His degrees of excitement work like this.

Level 1:  Slow Tail Wag                                    

Trigger:  Doing anything.  Standing up.

Human Translation:  I am kind of excited about whatever you are doing.  Also I will now follow you everywhere.

Level 2:  Biting

Trigger:  Seeing something he likes, or being played with.

Human Translation:  C'mon, I don't really have hands.  I use my mouth to experience the world.  Now let me give you a high five, with my teeth!

Level 3:  Vigorous Tail Thumping

Trigger:  Grabbing his leash or Chuck It.

Human Translation:  OMG!  We are going outside!  I love outside!  OMG!  The thing that makes that little round furry animal fly!  I want to eat them.  I want to eat them both!

Level 4:  Jumping

Trigger:  Coming home.

Human Translation:  I love you!  I missed you!  I love you!  I missed you!  OW!  I'm sorry I know I'm not supposed to jump but I love you!

Level 5:  Sprinting Back and Forth

Trigger:  Unknown, happens spontaneously.  

Human Translation:  Must run.  Must run fast.  Must turn around and run fast.  Must keep running.  Must run faster.  Must run back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  Must run!

Yeah, dogs are fun.

I also woke up to new revelations that *gasp!* the NSA has committed privacy violations.  This news isn't shocking, but I'm glad that Snowden and the Guardian are keeping a steady drip of pressure on the NSA and its allies in DC.  Snowden's revelations have really caught traction and the story keeps growing bigger and bigger.  

• We find out here the House Chair on Intelligence kept info from other members of Congress to make sure the Patriot Act reauthorization passed.  The Republican on Republican combat this caused illustrates the weird political coalitions this issue created.
  
• And this interview with the chief judge of the court tasked with policing the NSA really has little power to do so.  Obama trumpets this court's existence as one reason why American's can trust the NSA surveillance programs.

The local paper has had a steady stream of letters lately calling Snowden a traitor.  If that's true, he's in good company with some other famous traitors, like George Washington, Ben Franklin et al.  People who broke the law and risked their personal well-being to stand up for freedom and liberty.

I love America.  I think our ideas and ideals are among the best in the world: That all men are created equal, that government is run for the people and by the people, that everyone should have a fair shot.  Those ideas changed the world.

But ideas are just talk and it's actions that matter.  Our ideals are only as good as us, and I do not think that the NSA collecting and storing American's electronic communications embodies any of those ideals.  That kind of stuff belongs in the past with Soviet Russia or the Stasi of East Germany.  Not in America.

Every day that our government invades the privacy of every American, every time our government lies to the American people about the programs it has to watch us, is a day that Bin Laden and the 9/11 terrorists win.  And they've been winning over, and over, and over.  

Sometimes when your puppy wants your attention, he means it.

I was organizing some collector cards on the couch.  They were spread on the coffee table, at my feet, and everywhere else.  Winston came up to me, stepping on the cards.  "Go." I said.  He went a little ways.

Then it started.  Quietly at first.

*Unk
*Unk

It built in speed and intensity.

*Unk!
*Unk!
*Unk!

Finally I realized, barf is coming!  "Go! Go!" I yelled and Winston bolted for the door.  I flung it open only to see my sprinkler had gotten stuck and was spraying the entrance to the home.  Winston hates sprinklers.

He came to a screeching halt and barfed on the carpet.  Then he ate it.  I went back to organizing my cards.

The Puppy: 6 Months Later

Right before I got a dog my mother told me that pet owners have less stress and live longer.

At times with Winston, that seems impossible.  Right now he's making noises like he might barf.  All this week he's woken me up at 4 to go to the bathroom (better than the alternative).  I come home, and he's chewed the deck.  He knows he's not supposed to do it.  I know this because as soon as I open the door he starts his guilt walk, a low, scooting waddle like a ferret on rohypnol.  Or like a cobra trying to charm me.  So I look around for what he did wrong, find the chewed wood, and take him over there for some firm "No!"-ing.  

Now dog people might tell me won't know what I'm talking about if I didn't catch him in the act.  But Winston is smart, I think he knows.  Or at least has some idea.  Now he gives me puppy dog eyes, head cocked to one side, tail wagging.  He wants forgiveness.  I pet him and all is well.

Now scratch my belly!

People say labs are people pleasers, and that side of Winston becomes more apparent each day.    He attends my every move, to the point of annoyance.  Sometimes I just watch him watch me.  In all things he wants to make me happy.  Not being able to do what I ask stresses him out, like when I tried to teach him roll over.  He pawed here and there, snorted and turned in circles.  But once he did, he jumped for joy seeing how happy I was.

The bottom line with Winston is this: I clean up a lot of his poop, and I'm sure glad I have him.  He eats my deck, but he loves me unconditionally.  All in all, I'm probably getting the better end of the deal.

Though I'm 29, this is the first time in my life I've been the sole provider for any living thing bigger than a gold fish.  Yes I had dogs and cats growing up, but my mom took care of those.  I've never had a pet since then.  No kids either.  And though he is just a dog, Winston has helped me understand a little better the meaning of unconditional love.

I never intended for this blog to be about dogs.  I've looked through blogger, it seems like every other blog is dedicated to some four legged creature.  When I started this blog I was in the middle of starting a teaching career and running a non-profit.  It was about social change, changing the world, etc etc.  And now, about Winston pooping on deck.  There is probably some significance to that, but I am too tired to find it.

A Good Day Illuminates the Importance of the Little Things

Upon arriving at the beach yesterday Winston did two things:

1.)  Urinated into the freshwater stream, upstream of the large pool where a number of children played.

2.)  Ran and pooped in the ocean.

I was unaware he had done the later until it was too late.  Turds bobbing in the surf make slippery targets for my poop bags, so we moved down the beach.  Winston hates the ocean.  It scares him.  Little by little I coaxed him in, until he finally made the plunge and swam.  Onlookers cheered.

Winston, my girlfriend and I had gone to the beach to clam.  Evidently the recent super moon had resulted in historically low tides.  The Siletz Bay was nearly drained at low tide, and we could walk out into the middle of the muddy bottom.  I brought a shovel but didn't need it, we were able to pull clams out with our hands.  Winston bull charged around the muddy flat excitedly, stopping to dig with us now and then.  We quickly limited.  There's a bucket soaking in my garage now that will soon become chowder.

On the way home we broke out of the cloudy Oregon Coast Range and into the Willamette Valley.  The late sun lit up Mt. Hood like a beacon.  It shined brighter than I had ever seen.

I think often about how to best live my life.  I know it is short.  I know I only get one shot.  I struggle to find the balance between leisure and work, both of which make me happy in the right amounts.  I am coming to believe as much as anything, the key to a happy life is finding pleasure in the little moments.  My dog swimming in the ocean for the first time.  My girlfriend's delight at digging out her first clams.  Mt. Hood lit like a torch.  Those small moments pepper every day, it's just up to us whether we choose to enjoy them.

Winston's Fathers Day Gift

On a walk, Winston started pooping in someone's lawn.  So I drug him to a field across the street, and holding his leash he began his poop spins.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.  Answering the text I didn't even notice it.  Slowly I became aware of the faintest sensation of something on my foot.  Something barely noticeable, as if it had been heated to near body temperature.  I looked down and saw it.  A turd.  On my foot.

Triumphant, Winston walked the rest of the way home with his head held high.  

Then he taunted me with this face.

Next time it'll be more than your foot!

Happiness is Ham

Winston found a piece of ham on the playground.  He is eating it beside me as I type.  A number of large chunks have fallen out of his mouth, but he is oblivious and blissful.

Winston is my 6 month old yellow lab.  He grows at an amazing rate, and is still not half his full grown size.  He can sit, shake, and lay down.  I'm trying to teach him to roll over.  We have a sequence:

"Sit!"  He sits and wags his tail.

"Lie Down!"  He lies down and wags his tail.

"Roll over!"  His ears go back and he looks at me, confused and worried.

So I roll him over, praise him lots like he did it on his own.  He wags his tail!  And we repeat.  We did too much today and he promptly barfed when he was finished.  Luckily he at the barf back up.

So far he hasn't destroyed anything by chewing.  If he gets lonely, the only thing he tears up are magazines I leave out.  The first one he got was the Sports Illustrated swimsuit addition.  While disappointed he does have good taste.

I have learned to read his language and moods a little bit.  Jumps-while annoying-mean he his happy.  Bring the leash or chuck-it out and he starts bounding.  When he has to poop he begins sniffing the ground.  Slowly at first, then faster and faster.  What he is sniffing for I don't know.  When he does find a spot with an appropriate scent for his poop, he then starts whirling around and around like a helicopter, tail kinked and in the air.  Poop circles are a tell tale sign Winston has been there.