So Long Milo

Except in his old age, Milo was not one to sleep in. He loved treats, always ate with gusto, and lived his dog’s life with a spirit that most of us humans could only hope to emulate. It’s a tall order to adequately memorialize a life in a few paragraphs, but such is the impossible task at which an obituary strives and, inevitably fails. We all have our own fond memories of this hairy little creature in an oversized dogsuit, and these are just a few of mine.

Early in college, when I would come home for the weekend, I would get high in the garage and then take Milo for a walk at 2 or 3 in the morning. Given the explosive catalyst of the muttered query, “Do you want to go for a Walk?”, it never took much to wake him at those hours. Though he must have been perplexed at the prospect of these irregular nighttime sojourns, he never let on, and was only too happy to oblige my late-night, intoxicated suburban wanderlust. There were, of course, trees to be peed on, cats to be searched for, and territory to be marked. The time of day (or night) was irrelevant. And, even after these nocturnal adventures, his morning, afternoon, and evening walks were anticipated with nothing less than the utmost of canine zeal.

I remember he stole socks and other items of laundry (preferrably unwashed) with a delight reserved for only the most enthusiastic of bird-dogs. He didn’t like it when people fought, pranced after a good grooming at the vet, and, a few times, managed to steal an entire loaf of bread, defying the watchful eyes of his four loving guardians. When said bread loaf was wrested from his mandibles, there was left a muzzle imprint – indented proof of a victorious theft.

It’s hard to comprehend that he’s gone. Pets play a role in our lives that I couldn’t even begin to quantify. I can only say that their loss is something we feel in our hearts, deeply. I encourage anyone reading this to feel free to add a memory of this English Cocker Spaniel who came running through the rain in his first encounter with Barbara and Bob. Or, at the very least, when you next have a drink, drink to Milo. He was a good dog, and he will be missed.

Monty

More sad news. Click here for the obituary.

There is hope

sad news from Robin:

You may have heard that Jasper died in May, and we have been grieving
his loss ever since. Sofie was strongly affected by it and we
thought we had lost her too, since she just stopped playing and
interacting with us. So last weekend we got Gus, a fourteen week old
Aussie to keep Sofie company. Being a female, she is not happy with
that either. She thinks Gus is here to displace her, so she is still
not speaking to me.

Today she seems to be lightening up, and may
even be beginning to play with him, though, so there is hope.

Another gem from this week's New Yorker

I just don't learn

I got sprayed by a skunk last week. Thought it was a cat. Earned myself a trip to the groomer for a skunk bath. I need to wise up.

The Best Speech Ever

Years ago, when i was being house-broken, I decided I shouldn't just pee on the New York Times, but read it as well. This ephipany came as a result of reading this speech in The Times, which, I humbly maintain is one of the best, ever.
(Thanks to Scott Forman for reminding me of it.)



George Graham Vest (1830-1904) served as U.S. Senator from Missouri from 1879 to 1903 and became one of the leading orators and debaters of his time. This delightful speech is from an earlier period in his life when he practiced law in a small Missouri town. It was given in court while representing a man who sued another for the killing of his dog. During the trial, Vest ignored the testimony, but when his turn came to present a summation to the jury, he made the following speech and won the case.

Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us, may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.

The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog. A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer. He will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.

If fortune drives the master forth, an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.

George Graham Vest - c. 1855

I read the New Yorker before I eat it.

Apologies to my many human and canine readers. I've been consumed with buying a doghouse. More on that soon. In the meantime, here's the caption that should've won for the Shanahan cartoon a few weeks back.

Dogblog: A re-evaluation

I think this speaks for itself. Woof to Alex Gregory - one of the New Yorker's best cartoonists.