The Show Dog Runs…

I take my dog to a nearby park every day for her walk. She is almost 13, and our neighborhood is very hilly. She gets around just fine, but the level paths at the park are much easier for her to navigate. She stills likes to chase squirrels and there are plenty of wide, open spaces at the park for her to chase them.

Claudia is a standard poodle. I let her hair grow kind of long in the winter and keep her ears groomed like other dogs. She’s a good size, about 50 pounds and the only concession I will allow to her “Poodleness” is a small, poof at the end of her tail. She’s been an amazing dog that we never had to train. She has always been a voice command dog; we do not ever need to leash her (although we do in strange surroundings). She follows me and watches me and never gets too far away when walking. If she needs a correction (which she rarely does) I give a quick command and she obeys. She will not touch any left out food and will only eat when you give her permission, including her own food. I have no idea why she is this way, she just is.

At the park, I enjoy meeting other dog owners and their dogs and I usually have treats in my pockets just for them (the dogs, not the owners). Last week I met an elderly man with his two, large breed dogs.

The first thing you need to know is that the man was from Connecticut (he told me that several times in the first few minutes). Is there something extra special about people or dogs from Connecticut? He was visiting his daughter and then he told me that his dogs were SHOW dogs.

Oh, I see….what?

He rambled on for a long time, while Claudia patiently waited about 15 feet away. She was sitting and following our conversation while his dogs sniffed about. He proceeded to detail the countless hours of training they had, how strict he and his wife were with their diets and how invested they had been with their careers. I listened, but I was really just interested in giving them loving strokes and treats.

His dogs were delightful; I’m not sure what they were (he told me one was an Egyptian something but he talked so quickly with so many words that it all just went in one ear and out the next).

One was 10; he looked like a big ole, brown hound dog, and had lost most of his eyesight. He became my new BFF when I gave him a treat. The other was 3, was large, white, and had terrier like hair. As I gave him a treat I was told that he was a champion! He was the big winner at Madison Square Garden three years ago.

After telling me that, the man finally paused to allow me to express my praise and amazement. I said, “Wow, a celebrity!” and I smiled (for extra emphasis).

Finally, the man noticed Claudia. He asked what kind she was and I told him. Because she was so patient, and was so observant he said, “It looks like she has had lots of training.”

I honestly answered, “No, she just came that way.”

“No, training? Not even as a puppy?”

“No.”

“How did you teach her to be off leash so nicely?”

“I didn’t, she just sits when I talk and follows when I walk.”

Then he asked how old she was. I told him her age and he was amazed at what good shape she was in. Then he tried again with, “I bet you watch her food pretty closely. She’s so fit.”

By now I honestly felt kind of felt badly when I said, “No, we really don’t. She eats what she wants and stops eating when she is full. She doesn’t beg and doesn’t often eat offered treats.”

Then we started walking. He explained what brilliant hunters his dogs were and how the white one and just caught a squirrel yesterday. He didn’t kill it (because of course, he KNOWS better).

Don’t get me started on dogs and squirrels. Claudia has caught several in her day and unlike the SHOW dogs, she kills them because she doesn’t know better, she’s just a dog. I freaked out each and every time but that is an entirely different story…

As we walked by the playground, I gave him a warning (as his dogs were unleashed –despite the two leashes in his hand). I told him that I always had to watch Claudia carefully at the far end of the park, near the street. It was a busy street and squirrels frequently ran from the park to the woods on the side adjacent to it. I joked that I felt like a Secret Service agent - always looking for squirrels and redirecting Claudia’s attention if I spotted any.

He kind of blew me off (after all, his dogs were SHOW dogs).

I wished him a good walk as Claudia and I picked up the pace. His dogs were off wandering in the woods and being rather pokey; Claudia and I like to WALK.

As we neared the street, there were several squirrels, with acorns in their mouths scampering about. Claudia was definitely interested, but I herded her over to the side closer to the pond and gave her a stern “no” when she looked like she would rather be on the side with her furry “friends.” We successfully rounded the danger zone and I set her off to the woods to look for some “playmates”.

Then I heard him. He screamed, “Get back here!” As I turned, I saw the white dog run after two squirrels and ran right across the street without a thought to the man. He chased them playfully and then just sat in the woods looking at the man who was yelling at him to return.

The man was a moron, even if he was from “Connecticut.” He was a Connecticut moron.

Two things: 1) Why would any dog want to return to someone that is screaming with such a loud and threatening voice? And, 2) Why was he screaming at him? He should have crossed the street with his leash and brought him safely back.

As he continued to yell, the dog eventually decided to return and you guessed it, right when a car was coming (exactly what I feared). Fortunately, the car saw the dog, and slammed on its breaks, narrowly missing him ( and no doubt a law suit).

I turned and walked on but when I looked over my shoulder both SHOW dogs were now on leashes.

Claudia kept exploring as I kept walking. She caught up to me and then ran off happily cantering across the baseball field.

OK, I admit. I was feeling smug. I couldn’t have been more proud of her than if she was a champion, at Madison Square Garden ☺

Let’s Go Back to Socks……

During the course of my life, I have experienced the magic of Christmas. Though, I admit, it was more magical when I was younger. Back then, it more about everything leading up to the day, rather than the day itself.

Christmas was a time where you really needed every moment after Thanksgiving.

You had the list to make - this took some serious thought and time to carefully peruse the toy section of the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue. By December, our copy was missing a front page, and was tattered and torn - the toy section most of all.

You needed to shop and pay attention to your school Secret Santa. The pressure to produce was excruciating. Sometimes, I just wrote a nice note and maybe included some candy leftover from Halloween (don’t judge). I always wanted to be known as a good giver – reputation was everything…..

There were cookies to help bake. The first few batches were fun to decorate. After the first five dozen though, my enthusiasm waned and the cookies looked more like they had been decorated during an adult happy hour. The frosting usually ended up all over my hands and face, and I hated sticky fingers. I think more than a few cookies had detectable finger prints on them…..God knows how many had my DNA…

Trimming the tree was always part of the “Christmas Magic.” My dad was in charge of the lights (and probably was the least qualified to do so). He got them all out and then started the detangling process. That could be a scary thing…..We all waited anxiously, as expletives were uttered and Mom reminded him to “watch it in front of the kids.”

Once the lights were put in order, we all held our breath as they were plugged in. If they lit up, we sighed with relief and the trimming process began. If they remained dark, we scattered upstairs like cockroaches to light. It was not a very special or magical thing to watch Dad unplug and replace the lights, one by one to discern which was the bad one (series string technology was a bitch). Some years, it ruined the whole process – Dad would storm off and we would carry on without him.

But when Dad was triumphant, tree trimming was the very definition of tradition. We always placed the tree in the hallway, so it could be seen through the glass front door, outside (creating a Norman Rockwell-ish feeling). At least, that’s the story I was told. Now, I am convinced it had more to do with the pillars leading to the living room. The tree never stood upright, and every year twine was employed to tie to a pillar to make the tree stand erect. My oldest brother always got to tie the twine. I was the youngest, so I really never got to do anything except what no one else wanted to do. It was the pecking order thing, and being the youngest, I never climbed….

My dad, with cigar in hand, and a cognac close by, would direct the process. My mom usually had nothing to do with it once we were all old enough to know not to eat the ornaments. I never knew what she did, or where she went, but now that I have raised two children to adulthood, I have a few guesses…..After placing her special china baby ornament on the tree she would disappear and reappear magically at the end to assign the job of returning the empty boxes to the basement. And, yes, it was usually my brother closest in age to me, and me . I hated that basement, but that is another story……

We had the favorite ornaments, and you guessed it, the oldest sibs put those on. I was relegated to the homemade ornaments that were falling apart. I was allowed to help with the candy canes, partially because there were plenty to go around. Candy canes on the tree were an absolute given. I was always shocked when I visited other homes with not a single cane on the tree. I was led to believe that it was a solid Christmas tradition, but then I was also told that too much TV made you go blind….

When the tree was completed, the mistletoe went up and Mom and Dad did their thing. I remember my teenage siblings avoided standing under it when opposite sex friends were around. My dad would never miss an opportunity to point it out, and he always chuckled when the embarrassed sibling uttered the inevitable, “Dad!”

Once the house was decorated, and we settled back into our routine, I fondly remember playing the guessing game with my brother and sister closest in age to me. One would pick an ornament and give clues until someone guessed the correct one. It kept us busy for hours (after all, too much TV made you blind).

Closer to Christmas came perhaps the single most anticipated event (except for the day itself) of the season. The day the caramels came from Nebraska. My Aunt Gloria made the absolute, most perfect caramels ever. They were soft, sweet and tasted of buttery goodness. I recall more than a few got stuck on the roof of my mouth and I became frantic, quite sure it would remain there for the rest of my life. They were rationed, locked up and they were heaven. Even as we got older and moved away, my mom loved to call us to tell us “The caramels came today.” The ones that wouldn’t make it home always had some shipped to them. But the rest always got their own stash. Naturally, being the youngest, I got the least (I’m sure it was equal, but it always looked like the others got more).

As I grew older, and had children of my own, the day naturally became all about them. The magic I experienced was through their joy, their excitement and their transparent glee as the days of December melted away to the number 25. Trimming the tree was fun, and the lights always lit up. They still became tangled, but I had control over it, so the experience was completely different from that of my youth (perhaps because cognac was not a part of the experience).

After having children, I eschewed the idea of presents. Having a birthday in December, getting presents seemed anticlimactic. So when family, friends or even co-workers asked what I would like, I always suggested socks. Socks were easy to shop for, inexpensive and practical. Socks became the go-to gift for me.

At first, it was funny to see what kind of socks people came up with. I had multiple pairs with the toes separated like gloves. They looked cool, but were very difficult to put on, and they felt much like it feels to wear thong underwear – awkward and unnatural. Then, came the exceptionally fluffy socks. They were comfy, yes, but I couldn’t wear them with shoes, and they made my feet hot and sweaty. Finally, there was a string of socks that looked like animals- again, funny stuff but not comfortable with shoes (although the dog did seem to like them).

So, I gently started to suggest Christmas ornaments….

As I trimmed the tree the other night, I vowed to tell everyone that I don’t need one more ornament – what was I thinking? I actually have a separate box just for Santa ornaments! I have Santa skiing, skating, vacationing – even rock climbing….I have multiple nesting Santas (the one where you open it, and another appears), I have Santa’s made of clay, cookies and felt and glue. I have Santas made of beads and glass, oh Lord, I have Santas, and I have enough. I also have a plethora of pine cone ornaments – who knew there could be so many…I also have plenty of cardinals on a log, hockey players, skiers, and sailors (my husband plays hockey and sails).

I even have a salmon ornament...and two of Texas?

I actually had a difficult time trimming the tree because I ran out of branches that didn’t already house an ornament – now that is too much.

I grumble about the tree every year, and threaten to do away with it. So, my husband has taken on the responsibility of getting the tree up – I trim it (at least we don’t need to use twine) because my children are away and busy….This year it took me a few days, with adult beverage breaks….but it’s up and looks great. I am feeling the mood, and waiting for snow. We do have too many ornaments…..I think I’ll go back to socks….but just the plain, black and blue kind (maybe a few tan or brown).