We'd like to hear from you.
Write to
Don't miss these wonderful books:
Thoughts While Walking the Dog
by Lynn Ruth Miller
Thoughts While Walking the Dog is the kind of enchanting book you'll want to read several times and then keep close by, so that every now and again you can reread one or two of the essays and rejoice in the quirkiness and sad/funny wonders of life...and of Lynn Ruth Miller, an original in a world that badly needs originals.
More Thoughts While Walking the Dog
by Lynn Ruth Miller
Sit down, pour yourself a cup of tea, and prepare to imbibe this wonderful collection of sometimes hilarious, sometimes sad, and always evocative stories culled from the event-filled life of the marvelously eccentric Lynn Ruth Miller. The author's humanity is evident in each of the quirky tales.
|
 Attitude! Would that all of us were as brave . . .
Contributed by Lynn Ruth Miller
One of the many lessons I have learned from my dogs is that I can be as mighty as the occasion demands. Although my pets are miniature in the extreme, they each have the attitude of an angry policeman. Read on for the whole story.
We are what we think…with our thoughts, we make the world. – Buddha
Amy, who is my oldest, has set the tone for all three of my walking companions. She weighs in at seven pounds and when she stands tall (as she ALWAYS does) she barely reaches my shin. However, her regal stance is that of a six-foot ballerina as she strolls down the street, head erect, toes en pointe.) Beware the human who dares to gurgle nonsense in her ear or stoops to stroke her head. She does not permit anyone to touch her if she hasn’t been properly introduced. She believes in good breeding and lives according guidelines set by both Miss Manners and Emily Post. Should there be a disturbance at my front door, I, who am at least fourteen times her size, take the precaution to look out the window to access my caller before admitting him into the front hall. Amy is not so timid. She charges the door as if she were defending the fortress at Agincourt and bares her tiny teeth with the confidence of the FBI trapping a criminal. This person was after all, unannounced.
Her sister Dorothy is even more protective. Her attitude is understandable when one knows her past history. She was abandoned when she was barely a year old because of a dripping eye, a sagging hernia and bad toilet habits. Since I am fast reaching the age when these problems will be mine, I did not consider them liabilities when the Humane Society asked me to adopt her. Medical science took care of the hernia and eye problems and TLC, determination and close monitoring has almost solved her random elimination. Dorothy is one happy puppy and she remembers all too well the days when she was not. As we walk down the street, she is alert to any danger, ever ready to defend her new family against aggression. Her motto seems to be, "I lost my first mother because I wasn’t vigilant enough. I have no intentions of making THAT mistake again."
 As we saunter down to the beach, my little protector will accost Pit Bulls, Rotweillers, German Shepherds and Saint Bernards with amazing belligerence when one considers that she barely reaches their shinbones. Dorothy weighs in at 9 pounds with sagging hips and no waistline whatsoever. She is totally out of shape, but that does not deter her. She has never looked in a mirror and in her little mind she believes she is as muscular and fit as her immense potential enemies are. She has no idea that her appearance is that of a fat fur ball.
When she barks her warning to potential enemies, all of them, big, little, weak or strong, back away, shocked at the stream of blue epithets that pour from her mouth. (One Golden Retriever stood open-mouthed as she reviled him; then he tucked his luxurious tail between his legs and actually PALED as he galloped away. Dorothy’s strength is her obviously her certainty. She wins because she knows she will.
Donald is the man of our house. He is six pounds of solid masculinity, afraid of nothing and up to the most terrifying challenge. After all, he IS French. Not long ago, my little boy got a foxtail in his eye and I had to take him to the vet’s for treatment. We entered the examining room, Donald’s head resting against my heart. He likes to be sure my maternal energies are in good order since it is that instinct that determines the regularity and size of his dinner.
The vet entered the room and instantly recognized us. "You are the one who lives across the street!" he exclaimed. "I hear your dogs barking ALL THE TIME."
I knew immediately that we were in for a difficult time.
Donald took the measure of this young professional with his one good eye and the vet smiled. "I can handle this little fellow," he said. "I’ll just take a peek under his eyelid."
He reached for Donald and Donald‘s teeth clamped on his aorta. I unclamped them, reached for the nearest tourniquet and waited. The vet cleared his throat. "I’ll just call in my assistant," he said.
The assistant, the vet and I held Donald in our combined iron grip and the vet reached for that eyelid. Donald peered at our efforts with barely concealed, albeit one-eyed, venom. He lunged. I watched horrified as blood spurted over the vet’s lab coat and down the assistant’s chin. "I’ll get a muzzle for him," said the vet.
"Our muzzles are too big for a dog that size," said the assistant.
 Donald rumbled ominously in my arms. "I’ll tie his mouth shut," I offered.
The vet smiled and his relief was obvious. "GOOD IDEA!" he said "I’ll give him a shot from the rear."
He tiptoed behind my small hero and attempted to get the needle into his rump but Donald was too fast for him. "He just wet your trousers, Doctor," said the assistant.
"I think he dumped on the table," I observed. "I can’t understand how he shot it all the way over there."
Donald‘s rumble slowed as the drug took effect. Within moments, my warrior was reduced to a limp rag doll. The rest of the story is just another example of the raw force of authority overcoming the individual. The vet removed the foxtail, the assistant bandaged his hand, he put antiseptic on her arm and I cleaned up the table. I surveyed the shambles my wisp of a poodle had made of the usually austere, organized room, and I was filled with new respect for the small bits of life that populate our world. He is so small he could easily take a nap in that veterinarian’s shoe, yet he retained complete control of the situation until, defeated by the force of numbers and the power of opiates, he was drugged into submission.
"That will be $155.00", said the receptionist. "We had to use a lot of pharmaceuticals."
"That‘s a small price to pay for such a marvelous show," I said. "I think I’m going to audition him the next time Barnum and Bailey come to town."
 I scooped up my tiny warrior and we retired from the scene of his battle, wounded and tired but triumphant.
Attitude! Would that all of us were as brave and determined as my Donald. There would be far less scapegoats and many more heroes in this world of ours if each of us had his courage. He proves the adage, "It ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it."
And he did it exactly right.
Human beings have an inalienable right to invent themselves.
– Germaine Greer
|
|
