Dancing with the Dead in the Mission

Back in the days of my youth, I thought the Day of the Dead was a spooky, freaky event for (ahem) goth freaks and the morbid. After losing my mother in 2004 and my dad and aunt and first cat in 2006, I started finding comfort in the event. But I sort of saw it as an event to get the death behind me. Only during the past couple of years have I seen it for what it is, a day to dance with the dead and celebrate how they are there at every point. And every year, no matter how young we are, we dance one year closer to our own death.

This year I dealt with the deaths of a few people close but not that close to me, most of them quite elderly and having completed full, rich lives that ended suddenly and painlessly. I lost my dear cat Bunter who shared 20 years with me. On Friday I lost Guru, whose two rich months with me were as valuable as a life time.

The ceremonies tonight held great meaning to me. I shot a lot of video, but since I'm fading (no, not that kind of fading just yet, I'll share this piece from the end of the parade. If you look closely, you'll see wonderfully wacko Frank Chu of the 12 Galaxies fame, a recently married male couple and a Cindy Sheehan supporter saying it's time to raise democracy from the dead.

Tonight's ceremony had a deeper poignancy. During the opening speeches there were some profound comments about how this grassroots, non-corporate sponsored event represents the real America that we rarely see -- one that is culturally and economically diverse, one that doesn't always follow all the rules yet respects so many converging stories, including those who no longer have an heartbeat. And we were reminded that we may very well be on the verge of an enormous cultural change. Many of us lost people who mean a great deal to us this year, yet we have also witnessed the death of some things that are truly horrid such as some of the corporations that fell, and the carcass of the Bush Administration that will creak wearily into the abyss in a matter of weeks.

It's one of my favorite San Francisco events since it has a quiet power that builds as the night goes on. You never completely know what's lurking out there in the dark, and there are a lot fewer drunks and druggies than a most events. But, as my video shows, there is a spooky number of cops on the route, a sign of the number of shootings in the Mission this year and souls that have crossed the rainbow bridge.

Tonight I put down favorite toys of Guru and Bunter on one of the communal shrines. It felt good to honor these glorious four-legged companions who never met yet blessed my life this year.

The Gift of Guru

Sigh.

Okay, my last post about Guru wasn't completely dishonest, but I do feel compelled after coming to grips with the full brunt of my agony of the past week by filling in some details. Much as I appreciate the many condolences about his departure, I fear some people think he has gone to a new home where he is getting the care and training he needed to succeed. I'm sad to report that's not the case, and I've gone through the roller coaster of emotions with rescue dogs that can range from joy to heartache. In this case it was the latter, mainly due to human stupidity.

Let me start at the beginning.

Two months ago when I got the unexpected call about a basenji being placed with me, I didn't fully understand that I was even being considered as a foster dad then. The rescue group needed a place for this very troubled pooch to be calm since previous assignments had not worked out. After three failed placements where he had attacked other dogs, people and finally trashed the house of a dogless house, there was no other option. What was not expected was that after showing agitation and panting when he arrived, within five minutes he was calm. After 15 minutes he was snuggled up next to me, and I agreed to give him a last chance.

Our time together alone was perfect. He responded to every command. In the rare case where he tried to chew something or jump where he wasn't supposed to, he obeyed on the first command. We had some good initial walks. Adoption seemed imminent.

But signs of aggression started emerging. I started investing in trainers, the first one bailed, the second said it would take months, maybe years and thousands of dollars and still might not work. I kept paying and moved forward. When I was in New York, he attacked the sitters who refused to return. I tried a supplemental trainer.

There seemed to be signs of improvement, with him even looking back at me for guidance on our walks. And then we'd pass another dog or jogger and he'd growl, lunge and sometimes grab a person's jacket as I became the target or increasingly hostile scorn and cursing in the neighborhood. I opted out from walks and let him keep in the house and yard, only to have to deal with him wanting to tear down the fence when he heard the dog next door.

My pleas of placing him with a more experienced foster through the rescue group got a response that the only option was that he'd have to be put down since he was, in a word, unadoptable.

Details of his troubled past started emerging. He was probably the product of a puppy mill. He was placed in a pet store where he left unattended much of the time and in a pen where he lay in a bed of his own feces. No one seemed interested in buying him, and he was marked down to half price and finally adopted by a woman in suburban Sacramento, an Iraq war veteran with severe physical and mental scars from the war.

She projected her many issues on to him and put him on anti-depressants. She made him her protector and baby, pitting him against various significant others and family members who moved in and out of the house. Only this week did the rescue group learn that there had been previous attempts to have Guru turned over to them because of his aggressiveness.

Had I known all of this, I probably never would have brought him in. But I only saw the full potential of his aggressiveness over the past two weeks during several close calls and a blood dripping biting incident last Saturday. At the same time, he became ever more affectionate with me. But the question remained if he might one day turn on me remained.

The only option offered to me by L__________ with the rescue group was having him put down, something I refused to consider until I was away this week and could gain some objectivity. I ached when I made the decision but knew it was right.

The second I walked in the door, he greeted me with an ecstatic whimper that seemed to say he loved me more than life itself. The last 18 hours with him were excruciating and glorious as he showed me so much love and appreciation. I longed for him to show a dark side so I would be further convinced that I was making the right decision.

I had come to perceive L_________ with the rescue group as heartless, even though she kept emphasizing that she was dealing with 200 adoptable dogs in desperate need of homes and this was a dog that no one would take or that it would be a great risk to put him in another home. I opted out not going with her to the vet, knowing I would likely collapse. I just asked that she make his departure as quick and unemotional as possible. Then I thought she was awful when she greeted us cheerfully and petted Guru as if nothing was wrong. She smiled and said that it would be a quick procedure and that she would be back in 45 minutes. How could she be so emotional? At least Guru seemed calm and confident as he walked away with her, and he disappeared from my sight forever.

Nearly two hours passed before she returned. I was sure that my wonderful, kindly vet had intervened and was going to take Guru into her own home. My heart sank when the doorbell rang and there stood L____ with the empty collar and leash. She had an ironic smile and shook her head silently as she walked in, hanging her head as she settled in my leather wingback chair. Finally she broke down in tears and said, "This was one of the hardest endings I've ever been through." Guru required several injections of sedatives before he was finally out, and L________ had bandages on her arms from where he attacked her.

She remained for more than an hour as we bonded over stories of wonderful pets in our past and I moved from seeing her as someone with a heart of stone to a saint who drives easily 2500 miles a week rescuing basenjis from wacko owners, shelters and danger. And, of course, she does it all as a volunteer out of the love of the basenjis. Most of the stories have happy endings, but sometimes there are cases like Guru -- wonderful, loving, gorgeous basenjis who have been so damaged by ignorant humans that think they are their babies and not canines needing protection, boundaries, rules and affection. Humans and animals operate in radically different worlds and too many people fail to see that place where we do connect is precious and should not be misconstrued as a place to fulfill our own dashed dreams.

By the time L________ had left, I'd agreed to become a volunteer with the rescue group, one possible assignment being helping a 28-year-old man who this week learned he is HIV-positive and may have a support basenji.

When I made the arrangements for Guru's procedure, I decided to have a private cremation afterwards so I could scatter his ashes in my back yard with my cats and give him a memorial stone. The thought that he was no more than another discarded and unwanted animal was more than I could deal with. In his two months with me, he earned his right to be honored next to my two wonderful cats who shared my life for 20 years.

My intent was that I was going to adopt him Tuesday night, a bit of news I could add to the jubilation of knowing we will soon be saying President Obama. As I heard about the continued news about the polls, it made me cry knowing that this won't happen.

A basenji will, indeed come into my life. Every time I cherish my time with him, I will thank Guru for teaching me that every moment of frustration is worth it, that nothing can equal the joy of seeing that little curled tail relax and wag. I don't think I will ever be at peace with the decision I made. Many times I have regretted it and wonder if there might have been one more resource out of there that might have helped Guru succeed. He reminded me that I still have the capacity to love and endure trying circumstances. I picked one of the most difficult breeds to foster and one of the breeds' most challenging members. But I don't regret a minute of it.

Thanks for enduring this long post, if you've made it this far, and I will try not to obsess on this sad chapter again soon.

UPDATE: Thank you to the many old friends and new ones who have expressed such compassion. If you would like to honor the memory of Guru by making a contribution to help more basenjis find wonderful homes, you can visit this page on the Basenji Rescue and Transport (BRAT) site.

Glisten

For those who have not spent extended time in California, it is hard for them to wrap their minds around our two seasons -- dry and wet -- and even harder for them to believe we go with less than an inch of rain for up to nine months. So when the wet season first begins, I am excited to see it and retire the watering in the back garden for a while. Barely a week into it, though, I am usually anxious for it to end. However, since it only started Thursday, I am still in the enjoyment phase. It's also helpful as I deal with this weird mourning phase of not having Guru in the house. We only had two months together, but the bond was deep.

In the meantime, discussion is in the works about this little boy being sprung from a shelter in Mesquite, Texas, and coming out West provided he's not placed with a foster in Dallas. I'm next in line provided his psychological profile proves to be suitable.

Goodbye My Sweet Prince

After two months that have been 99% bliss, I am sorry to share that the other 1% has forced me to make the excruciating decision to return Guru to the rescue group on Friday. Nearly a dozen close calls involving his aggression with other dogs and strangers (the last one targeting the three-year-old great-grand daughter of my neighbor) and three biting incidents (the last one drawing blood), have finally forced me to agree to this painful decision. I would prefer to have a vital organ pulled out of me. But I have to keep reminding myself that he is a dog not my baby and that I have to be focused on what is best for him not my sentimental ideal of him. All the kudos from the rescue network assuring me that I've gone from being a basenji novice to an emerging expert don't help.

I keep trying to remind myself that I did exactly what I said that I would do by being a transitional foster parent and not his real dad during this chapter of his journey and would adopt only if it was absolutely certain that he would be safe and that he could cause no harm to those around him.

Just when I thought I was able to handle this decision, I came home tonight with him being the most excited and loving he has ever been after one of my trips.

There is no comfort in having to close my chapter with Guru, but now I am wrestling with making the decision of how best to respond to the need of providing a foster home to...

...Puma...

...or Benji and Maggie...

...or Bes and Sati. The challenge will be not taking on all five. There are many other basenjis out there needing love and care, and I am intent on providing it not letting it whither away because of this sad episode.

Basenji Fashion Friday

What all the well dressed basenjis are wearing these days.

Two Hours With Your New Personal Trainer...

...deserve some "alone" time and extra Natural Balance treats while Junk Thief treats himself to high end Basque cheese (that Guru hopes he gets to nibble later) and maybe one extra glass of Chardonnay. (Though Guru will never tell...provided he gets that cheese. Where is it!).

Cool Autumn Mornings...

...make those with ancient African blood lines prefer to stay in this position

Thursday Night Bliss

Iceland is broke, the U.S. is beyond broke, Palin is in her rabid foam spewing moose mode, we'll never hear the phrase "Paul Newman's newest movie", half of my friends east of Reno have some sort of early nasal/chest infection.

But in the spirit of the Power of Now, I feel incredibly blissful. A short list from the past 72 hours that makes me feel that way:
* The fall weather in Oregon was, in a word, perfect.
* I met 50 to 60 people ranging in ages from 18 to 93, all of whom are not just voting for Obama-Biden but taking every person they know without a car to the polls. Oregon is cobalt blue come November.
* Even though I got completely lost driving to Forest Grove today, the journey took me through some of the most gorgeous farmland and deliciously ramshackle barns I've ever seen. If only I wasn't in such a time crunch and could have gotten photos.
* Everyone I met gave me tips about great political actions taking place to reclaim democracy and recommending or hading me great books.
* A young couple off Burnside showed me an incredible action figure their artist friend did in the likeness of Bolivian president Evo Morales.
* My meager investments tied vaguely to the stock market are still in the positive digits.
* My total credit card debt totals $30 -- the amount I paid to check a bag both ways on United -- and will be paid off the second I receive the bill after years...decades...of having bills that seemed to add another digit to the total each year.
* The wacko priests standing next two me in boarding zone four were seated two rows ahead of me, not next to me and my iPod touch drowned out their babble.
* My flight home arrived at SFO 10 minutes early.
* My bag was the 10th one off the carousel.
* I found a parking 100 feet from my front door and not at a parking meter.
* There was absolutely no doggie damage to the house and a glowing note from the dog sitter on what a gentlemen Guru was the entire week.
* I was greeted by the gorgeous creature above and below who was overcome with joy.

Stoned in the Back Garden

One thing that has long kept me from wanting to move from my little Mission District tenement is the small but beloved garden that I can spy from the dining room back window and has been a part of my morning and evening routine for years. A range of perrenials and annuals come and go, and I take solace in what I sometimes call the "River 101", the freeway just three blocks away, that can sound like a mighty river that is grounding and a reminder that nature and urbanity merging together can give me peace.

The memorial stones for my cats are there, and now letting Guru out in the garden is a part of my daily routine, allowing me no guilt to take time to pull weeds midday or catch up on recreational reading as he answers the call of nature.

Lately I have also come to take greater comfort in this garden stone that was given to me by my mother on the third to last Christmas she was alive, 2001, with its wisdom of "Out of crisis comes opportunity". These words would prove to be far more prophetic over the seven years that would follow, and there were so many people I could blame -- disappointing exes, an inept President, a few inept bosses and most of all, myself.

Yet, the stone has remained, sometimes nagging and other time reassuring. Tonight, as I looked at it, it seemed to have different meanings that I can't quite pinpoint. I just hope the opportunities are larger than the crises ahead.

Of course, W______ and I had a gorgeous garden in Park Slope. And I’m sure that I could find one in the right spot in NoLiTa or Chelsea Park…

…not that I am absolutely moving there…

…but I’m just saying. And shouldn’t Guru have his first visit to Central Park and the Met?

In About 16 Hours...

...I'll be here for four days. My dogdad anxiety is still high, but the new sitter has pulled out all the stops to try to make it work this time. Friendatella came over this afternoon, and Guru took a little nap on his feet, proving that he can be a love muffin with someone other than me. Thanks for all the support I've received from about five time zones, even a former coworker living on the southern shores of Lake Victoria, not that far from where his ancestors sought game thousands of years ago.

COSTCO-Prozac-Almost-Haiku

Went to COSTCO today to buy doggie Prozac
That I still can't bring myself to give him
It's exactly the same as the kind for humans
Which I could take instead.

When I filled out the form,
I was told to list him as a dependent.
The pharmacist was fussy when I returned
And gave my name not his.

Then she said the name Guru
Wistfully as if to sooth an otherwise tense Saturday.

Since I was there...
...I renewed my membership
That I share with my ex...

...six years gone and counting,
But both of our names are still on the account
And he calls me almost daily

But he bailed on his weekend dog duty this afternoon
Due to some murky new crisis
That he'll explain when we talk, you know, real soon

For now the dog is utterly calm, embracing
His high end chew toy from the
Wag Hotel where a dog room costs more per night than
The hotels where I'll stay in Portland next week

In a couple of hours, he'll rest his head on my stomach
Trusting and uninterrupted for nine hours
Allowing me to interpret his intent without explanation
In the glow of early morning light
I can embrace it for that which has been denied me
By so many humans, forever racing after something Far more frivolous than a chew toy
If I lavish too much love in this moment on a sleepy Basenji
I take comfort knowing that there is only a
Basenji to receive it and no human to critique it.

Basenji Rescue: Month Two Begins

There has never been a moment over the past month that I have wanted to give up, but there have been quite a few times when I have wanted a rest from my duty as the foster dogdad for Guru. There have been the times of walking him when a yapper dog comes lunging at him and he freaks out, galloping like a manic horse and the hair on his back stands up like a Rhodesian Ridgeback. There was the moment me when the dog sitter called me in New York to say that he would have to bow out of the gig and had no recommendations for a replacement. There were the many moments when I had to calm him as a far more aggressive tiny dog came charging at him and I held him, comforting his fear and said "Please don't let your dog approach, he's a rescue dog that doesn't socialize well with other dogs" as the other guardian failed to pull in the leash of her out of control mutt yapping and niping away while the guardian sneered at me as if I were harboring a vicious wolf. There were the afternoons when the little girls with off leash yelping white poodls pointed at Guru freaking out at the bay window as they giggled and let their hyper high-pitchedl pooches' frenzy escalate.

It reached a fever pitch Tuesday morning when I spoke to the rescue "sponsor" in Sacramento and pleaded for options now that I'd come to the end of my dog sitter resources and saw no remaining options, and she, in a sterile, heartless voice said "Sounds like we need to have Guru put down." The silence was followed by a surge in me that I've not felt in years, not since losing my parents, other relatives, close friends and partners who fell to the late '80s and early '90s plague. Clear of sentimentality and charged with a sense of a warrior that I thought had long ago died in me, I replied. "That is not an option. You have to explore every option to make sure that this dog is afforded what your organization claims to be. I intend, even if you refuse to help me, plan to rescue this dog. Whether it's in my home or a better option for him, I plan to rescue him." If there was any question of summoning the strength to persevere as he peered up at me with flawless almond eyes clarifying his unwavering trust and deep need for the protection that I refused to let loose of.

Forty-eight hours later, I am feeling that I am at a better place. After at least five or six hours of googling and phoning, I have found what I think is a far more experienced and resourceful dog sitter. This morning, I took him to a new vet. After going to the Grand Central Terminal of the SF SPCA where it seems the main human interaction is the screaming out of the word "Next!"it was a shock to be greeted at the Animal Hospital of Diamond Heights by two sweet young women cooing at 8 a.m. "Oh, what a sweet and gorgeous dog."

Much as I denied that it was important to me, at the end of the exam I was near tears when the vet turned to me and said, "Guru is lucky to have found someone who loves and cares so much for him." After beginning the week feeling that all the systems I'd spent the past three weeks to put together had fallen apart, at the moment I feel new and better ones have been put into place. These could fall apart when I head off to Portland Monday. But I still refuse to even consider the option so coldly suggested by the rescue group on Tuesday.

Rescue Basenji: Almost One Month

Almost every free minute of the past two days since coming back from Manhattan has been dedicated to moving into month two with Guru. After a great dry run with his sitter the previous week when I went to L.A., I was convinced that it would be smooth sailing while I was in New York for four days. It was a disaster, with aggressive behavior and the sitter saying he could not continue the relationship when I am in Portland next week.

When I called the rescue group to seek alternatives, she said that there was no one in the network that could take him on. Then, after a long sigh, she said, "It sounds like we will have to have him put down." I refused to accept this as an option and pushed her, demanded of her that she seek every option to not make this happen. After a few half hearted options offered by her, I spent a couple of hours on the phone seeking out every high end behaviorist and sitter in town, all of whom are far more skilled and three times as expensive as the previous affable but not highly skilled previous sitter.

Tonight, as he sits next to me in his favorite crescent moon position, it's hard to see how anyone could even consider having him "put down" as an option. We are not out of the woods, and I have yet to sign on the dotted line. My hope is that soon I will sign on the dotted line to make him a permanent part of this household. Regardless, I am intent to be part of making certain that he will be able to have a full, well adjusted life in a loving home -- whether that is mine or someone else's.

Foggy Afternoons...

...were made for tasty chew bone treats.

In Today's Style Section

This morning's San Francisco Chronicle (yes, I actually still take a few minutes on Sunday mornings to scan it) has a theme for the cover page of its style section: gurus. It's not exactly scintillating reading, but here is the link should you care to take a glimpse. Shockingly they failed to mention the Guru.

Side note: After several days of interviews, background checks and screenings we think we have a babysitter in place. The McCain campaign should have contracted Junk Thief for the VP selection process since he certainly has much better vetting skills. No, not medical vetting skills.

JTTV - Season 3 Premier

I know that you've been waiting on pins and needles for this. So here it is, the third season of Junk Thief TV. BE WARNED: If you stop by here frequently, you appear in the finale. If you're offended, let us know and you'll be removed. If you're offended that you don't appear, let us know, and you'll appear in a future episode. Even Guru came down from his serene cloud and makes a brief but memorable appearance.

Guru's Star Is Fast on the Rise!

I have been very disciplined by not having mentioned him for at least two posts. Does anyone think I am not smitten by this basenji? Guru just said, "Please don't say dog. Only people who were insulted by the 'lipstick on a pig quote' would like a dog. I am a royal canine, not a dog."

UPDATE: Just after posting this I heard, for the first time, something I've not seen in any of the books or websites on this canine: the basenji purr. When Bunter died, I was devastated that I would never hear that comforting hum of the feline purr that exuded so much unconditional love. There aren't words able to express the gorgeous sound of a deeply contented and appreciative basenji, especially one that came into my home uncertain of what would become of him. He has suffered through neglect, indifference and confusion, but his ability to love and trust has not been dampened. His gorgeous, indented maple colored head presses into my thigh with the trusting belief that there is still kindness and caring in a world that hasn't always been fair to him. After seven years of foggy, relentless night, I am wary to admit that this creature shares with me a waivering flame of hope that dares to pierce forward. He knows that God's most precious creatures do not need lipstick. They push forward into the future, singing Yes We Can!

Face the Dog

Yes, there really is a...Dogbook, a parallel Facebook site. Oh, dear. Thanks to the introduction from Joy of I've Got a Crush on...ME! Now her Basil and Guru are at least cyber friends across the continent. Bunter and Whimsey's "In Loving Memory" profiles are still up over at Catster. Perhaps I should look for Gardenster so my agapanthia can make friends with others in New Zealand or something.

An amazing thing, these interwebs. I bet I can already predict Tugboat Dave's reaction to yet another wacky San Francisco-fused trend.

If you've not friended me already, my Facebook profile is here.

Heart Strings and Mississippi

Even the movie obscura obsessed Junk Thief had never heard of this one released in the year of his birth, the story of a Mississippi boy and his basenji. Something suggests that it's a tear-jerker. Almost as much as a tear-jerker is the message that arrived tonight saying that if Junk Thief is ready to sign on the dotted line, Guru is permanent member of the JunkPlex. Of course, this happened just as Guru's now predictable 9:45 "frenzies" hit and he was trying to get into the kitchen cabinets, was playing with two dish towels like chew toys, was galloping up and down the hall like a speed crazed horse, scratching at the fridge, then digging and chewing at the couch ready to rip it open the way he has done to a dozen chew toys in half that many days, and then looking up with his brilliant almond shaped maple colored eyes as if to say "You are going to keep me, aren't you?" Junk Thief has always said that if you want a perfect home you better be ready to embrace loneliness, and no love is better than the one that is hard earned and comes with a few claw scratches and chew marks. The interactive assigment contiues: go or stay: temporary or permanent; short-term foster or life-long adoption?

Baby, Let Your Tail Hang Down

Above is what most people on the street see as the state of a basenji tail. It's not a sign of aggression or tension but supposedly a practical measure to help them weave through thorny brush. It really doesn't help that much with whiny kids, ghetto blasters, skateboarders and pitbulls in the Mission.

On the right you see a rare example of an increasingly relaxed Guru. What do you think his tail is telling you? Can you believe that only five days ago the rescuers were calling him a disturbed, aggressive, territorial animal? Though it's also pretty clear who now rules the JunkPlex.

When I was up on the Polk yesterday I almost bought a fetish of an Egyptian Royal Court baseni. Last night after another training session with my "rescue sponsor" he shared some factoids about the capacity of basenjis to take down antelopes, water buffaloes (and I think I heard him say) Rhinos. No wonder I sometimes wonder about that 24 pounds of canine muscle cuddling up so innocently with me in bed.

However, though we are definitely still in the foster mode, I am getting hints that adoption is eminent and would usually take anywhere from six months to two years. Of course, there has been no bonding with this little caramel canine and Junk Thief. He's just doing it with the hope that there will be some left over Iams kibble.