What We Believe We Perceive

My Ralfhie was a giant in a world of lapdogs. He walked in silence yet those around had made up their minds that he was to be feared. Without knowing a thing about him, he was judged to be dangerous when in reality nothing could be further from the truth. Ralfhie must have been a lapdog in another life because all he wanted in the world was to sit with, cuddle with and give and get love. There wasn’t a single inclination toward violence against anyone within Ralfh, yet people feared him. What they would see is how they perceived which, in turn, fostered their belief. Think about what your beliefs mean to you. They drive your actions, they are vehemently defended, they are shared with those we love. Our beliefs are precious but, all too often, they are only based on a world of our perception.

Meanwhile, for the longest time, my short and stout psychopath was not perceived so negatively. People would approach asking if they could pet him, those people included a mother asking for her small children. Caesar was seen favorably, thus, people perceived him as harmless and their belief was they could approach, and pet, this unpredictable, volatile psychotic animal. Nothing could be further from the truth, and the very thing that caused them to fear Ralfh, also caused them to approach Caesar – their erroneous belief born of perception. An affectionate hand extended to him would have been bitten through without hesitation while that very same hand, extended to Ralfh, would have given him such joy and he would return that touch with his gentle and childlike affection.

I know how harmful perceptions can be as all around me I see perceptions in action. I think that most relationships are built on perceptions. Our partners perceive who we are and are drawn to the person created of that perception. There is a real danger in building a future based on our perceptions of today. Perceptions can change turning what was once true into a lie, beliefs based upon a lie can be betrayed. As we grow as people our perceptions of the world grow, thus, our beliefs in what is real are challenged. We now find a different person beside us. For some, that might allow us to get to know that new person, but for many it’s a disturbing shock and an overwhelming burden to overcome.  What you perceived from the outside, from the surface, became your belief.

Going back to where we began, my gentle giant. Despite the sorrow that his loss has caused, and continues to cause – I would do it all again because Ralfhie embodied the most sincere and gentlest love. He was more than what you see.

I still stumble around the releasing of perceptions, after all I am not, nor will I ever be, perfect (but I do keep on trying). I think that although I’ve know this for a long time in theory, it wasn’t until seeing it used against my gentle and affectionate Ralfh that its ridiculousness took shape. We experience the world, thus perceive the world, completely different than the next person, and they differently than the person beside them. How can we all be right or wrong? Who really knows enough to create a truth that is believable?

I perceive, thus believe, I’ve rambled on enough. My perception of the subject comes from the hurts that the perceptions of others have caused, and continue to cause, to me. I cannot be alone in that hurt. I know, when it comes to Ralfhie, the perceptions of others deprived him of the joy he might have felt meeting new people, and the joy of receiving their affection. That hurt is wordless and without reprieve. You can try to force reality into the beliefs within the hearts of others, but you are doomed to failure as long as they’ve locked out what is real in favor of the paradigm that rules their perception.

Sigh … I miss my little boy … but at least I got to know him. I would hate to think that a perceived danger would have robbed me of our time together. I will forever perceive him as a little lapdog, nuzzling up and staving off the empty space he filled then, and fills now.

R.I.P. My Little Man – Mommy misses you.

 

Why I Prefer To Embrace My Primal Nature

It’s been a while since I’ve written in Ralfh’s blog. Not because I don’t think about him, because I think about him every day. I think about him whenever I open my phone, I think about him in reference to Caesar, and, most recently, I think about how his nature and instincts are so much better than many of the people I know.

Last week my neighbor had people over for a pool party. One of their guests had lost his ball over my fence (technically my landlord’s). As I watched him scurry over my fence, landing in my yard, I became irritated. Maybe it was because the way my neighbor had a hissy fit when my boyfriend climbed his fence after locking himself out of our house, maybe it’s because my neighbor walks around with his nose in the air, nope, I knew what it was. It was because this was Ralfh’s yard.

Ralfh spent the last year of his life banished from his backyard because the neighbor didn’t want him disturbing his pool parties. The neighbor, a coward by nature, did not come to us to complain, although he and my boyfriend had chatted many times. Instead, he went to my landlord. He went guns ablazing threatening to call the “authorities” and have him ticketed. He went to him knowing that, with his poor English and ignorance to the law he would give in to his fear, he knew he could bully him in order to get his way.

For years Ralfh would romp in his yard chasing away any wild animals that came his way. We were, as good neighbors, very conscientious to clean up after Ralfh, going so far as to throw down cleaner to keep the yard smelling sweet. And for this use of the yard I invested in yard tools like weed wackers and electric clippers. For this use both my boyfriend and I would take turns spending our weekends keeping the yard clear and the trees and hedges trimmed. We did this asking nothing in return but that Ralfh could romp in his yard.

It was the summer before Ralfh died that we were told to keep him out of the yard – it was off limits. We were told by the landlord, not by the self-important neighbor. We complied – not out of fear that the “authorities” would be called. Rather, we complied because the property itself belonged to the landlord and he was in fear. Ralfh lost his yard.

I resolved right then and there that I would never care for that yard again. I would never trim a tree of cut down the weeds. I would never take the tools that I had paid for out of storage – ever. Thus, as Ralfh was taken outside near the street, and was never again offered the security of his yard, the foliage grew to epic proportions. This was not our problem.

This summer Ralfh is gone. This summer, once again, I am not taking care of the yard. And when the kid jumped the fence to fetch his ball I was standing there, in Ralfh’s yard, with a scowl on my face and my arms folded. The neighbor’s wife, a pleasant sort, came out and asked me what was wrong. I pointed to the prehistoric sized weeds and told her, since we did not approve the child jumping the fence, we would be taking no responsibility for what occurred.

The neighbor’s wife chatted about how the yard, so overgrown, resulted in Mosquitos in her pool daily. She shared the fact that her husband, the coward next door, had to clean out the pool every day. She seemed stressed. I thought about that for a minute, inwardly smiling a big kool-ade smile. But, with a face so innocent it would have the angels sing, I explained how we were not allowed to avail ourselves of the yard. That for “some” reason our landlord had asked us to keep our dogs away. She then started to reach … “Don’t you want to barbecue or just sit out in the yard?” I responded with a simple no. She then explained how the last tenant had kept the yard lovely to which I, in my most passive aggressive way, remarked how great that was for them. Great for they chose to keep up the yard but we, as mere tenants, were neither obliged, nor inclined, to do so. That was not my job.

Yesterday I heard a ruckus in the yard. I looked out to see the landlord swiping at the weeds with a winter shovel. He had a helluva job ahead of him. I, being somewhat soft hearted, asked the boyfriend to offer him use of our tools. He said no, explaining that the landlord, as much as the neighbor, was to blame. He stood resolved to let the landlord do things the hard way.

I came home last night and was told that the landlord cut down our clothesline. Although we only used it on the rarest of occasions, I was angry at the childish, unwarranted revenge. I noted this morning that the sandbags we had near our door, because a faulty drain did not stop rising water from reaching the bottom of my door, were now gone as well.

So much drama for nothing.

Ralfh romped innocently, keeping intruders from his yard, without a care. He enjoyed the grass, the sun and the occasional cool breeze. He would see the neighbors outside enjoying their yard. He did not bark at them nor show any aggression at all, after all, they were enjoying their yard and leaving him to his. Ralfh was as good hearted as they come (unless you were an intruder in his yard). He never knew the neighbor that he saw with only curiosity was the real danger.

I wish we were all able to be like him, romping through our days with the sun on our face and a breeze washing over us. I wish we were all without agendas, without the greed and presumption of expecting the world to spin just for us. I guess those traits are part of being only human – how incredibly civilized. We think, plot and plan, reach out to take what is not ours away from the meek – we show our human nature.

I prefer to follow my primal nature. I want to be like Ralfh.

R.I.P. Ralfhy Bananas, Mommy loves you.

Broken Dogs, Broken Hearts

My small but vicious little sociopath was injured last week. His huge overfed body proved to be more than his hips and his pads could take. Watching him barely able to walk, and putting baby socks on his feet to avoid the pain of the patio broke my heart. I’ve spent the last 5 days taking care of him, bringing him his food and water, petting and giving him treats. Basically spoiling him. So I started to think, what is his demented little mind thinking. And as I thought about it, I realized that if his mind wasn’t a total mess, he may be thinking about Ralfh.

When Ralfh became sick we showered him with attention, caution, and treat giving in order to spoiling him for a time. Mad dog stood by watching this. But, afterwards, suddenly, Ralfh was gone. Was Caesar thinking he’d soon be gone too. After all, he was broken now. Of course, I knew that his kind of broken was temporary, and with time he’d be chasing the neighbors once again. Then I began thinking about how Ralfh’s kind of broken could not get fixed over time – Ralfh’s kind of broken was permanent. Ralfh’s broken was contagious because months after Ralfh left us, I still feel that brokenness that I know will be permanent. The kind of broken that time would not heal.

Ralfh’s birthday is a day before my own, and the old excite that I would feel about that day has changed. There is a large part of my birthday that is now broken. Broken dog, broken heart. I know he was a dog, and people lose those they love every day – and for a time I felt guilty for feeling such loss for a dog. How can my pain be comparable. I’ve come to understand that inside of all of us there are others. Everyone we love becomes a part of us. Person or pet – both are a part of who we are – and when they are gone that part of us that was borne of our love for them becomes broken and alone. That space is empty now, longing to be filled by the love you had for them, but like a home without a family within its walls, there is an odd loneliness that echoes throughout the halls. Each room knows that a family belongs within, but there will never be a family again. I wonder, if a house could reason, would it be relieved about being demolished, would nothingness be preferred to emptiness? If never again laughter bounced off its walls and into the very heart of the home. – that home would cease being a home, and would become a house. Empty – that is the space within me where Ralfh belongs.

Broken.

I look at those who also reside within my heart and I long to throw a comforter of safety around them, protecting not only them, but me. I fear feeling broken since you can only break a thing so many times before it turns to dust and blows away. Broken, we need to always work to fix the broken – love the broken – and with time, God willing, the broken will be whole once again. But, for my Ralfh, he remains within me, still I see him alone, waiting to hear laughter fill the air, once again, as I do – and on that day – we would no longer be broken.

R.I.P. Ralfhy Bananas. I miss you.

Do All Dogs Really Go to Heaven

I’ve been wondering if all dogs actually go to Heaven – then I blush because I realize that this is a kiddie movie. But, not long after, I again start pondering the same thought.

I don’t know that I necessarily give Heaven a whole lot of thought. I suppose it’s because I believe in doing the best I can – without the threat of God’s wrath. Heaven is or isn’t a place where I will either go or not go – worrying about it, even thinking about it, won’t change that.

But, I do find myself thinking about it when it comes to Ralfh – my kind and gentle giant. I think about his life, and the idea that it is just done, gone, over – well – it breaks my heart. I would like to think somehow he’s in heaven right now. I know there will be those fanatics that would attack the idea of a pet going to Heaven, and attack me for wishing it were so, but, in the same way I don’t fear God’s wrath, I don’t fear Man’s. Anyway, I digress.

I think, well, God is love right? And, if all of the hype about God, Jesus, Heaven and Hell are true, then of course Ralfh must have a place in Heaven. Ralfh’s love of us was so enormous that there is no way God could let it die. Assuming there’s a God right?

I’ve read the Bible cover to cover, I’ve gone to church once upon a time, I’ve read some of the religious zealot’s postings on Facebook – and as such I know the Story and the Rules. That’s all I need to know. If I am a good person, and a loving person, it’s because I am – I am not one because I’ve been bullied by the Bible or by some Priest on a pulpit. My heart’s full of love, like Ralfh’s, and I expect that should I die, and there happens to be a Heaven, I’ll be given a ticket to ride. Thus, if God values all life, and cherishes all loving and good creatures, I will see my good boy again. If there is no Heaven, and the Bible turns out to be a book of parables to teach us how to live, then it won’t matter.

Sigh. I truly hope that there’s a Heaven and Ralphy is waiting for me there.

But, in the end, I realize that this thought, this idea, will not be answered in my lifetime … but in a lifetime beyond – again, assuming one exists. I trudge on doing as I’ve always done and hope with all my heart that Ralfhy would be wagging his tail at my effort.

R.I.P. Ralfhy Bananas.

Reading the Slobber on the Wall

I just signed a new lease, so now I’m looking around the place with a critical eye. It seems that it’s time to paint these walls. The only thing that makes me leery about painting is the thought that I’m erasing all signs of Ralfh. Ralfh was on of those drooly dogs that, when they shake their heads, cause copious amounts of slobber to fly through the air covering both walls and furniture. Thus, he’s left his mark on our walls.

I realize that slobbery walls are not only disgusting, but a ridiculous thing to retain. It’s not a momento, it’s not that I like it there – it’s just the idea of erasing him, making the house look like he was never here at all.  I don’t want to see Ralfh’s life just fade away. Any day that passes without a posting leaves me with a pit in my stomach, why didn’t I write?

I’ve come to realize that these things, the fear of moving anything Ralfh related, the pressure of feeling that every day I must dig deep and write something here that is not only a mere thought, but a relatable universal idea, that any affection I give to any other animal is a betrayal – these things are not real, they are only figments of my own imagination.

I started writing this blog to remember Ralfh – in whatever way I was remembering him. This, not slobbery walls, would keep Ralfh from being erased or forgotten. But if I were to keep putting pressure on myself to keep that memory alive in any way beside the way the memory truly is would be a lie, an anxious tribute written under pressure rather than from the heart is not at all what I want to remember or feel.

It’s only natural to keep mementos of those we’ve loved when they are no longer with us. We tell ourselves that we’re doing this to remember, to keep them close – but those are things, not memories.  Those we love do not exist in things, nor does the memory of their every movement or action require us to analyze and dissect them. Sometimes a memory is only the look that they would give us when they were asking us if we loved them. I remember those looks, the way he’d lower his head coyly and move his eyes up to meet mine — that will keep Ralfh alive, and here with me, not the drool he left behind.

Life changes when someone you loves move on, but, life is meant to change. Thinking of life as a river, as long as that river flows it retains it’s beauty, it’s beauty and it’s ability to sustain life. Should there come a time when the river no longer flows making it becomes stagnate, diseased, a dark and algae ridden swamp. Memories that only exist when the one remembering refuses to move forward are not the healthy, beautiful things that keep our loved one alive, it becomes a symptom, a disease, a siren’s song to emotional death.

I remember you Ralfh, and still love you – and though at times it hurts, that hurt only reminds me that I am still alive, and that your memory really is floating down the river along with me.

R.I.P. Ralfhy

 

What color should we paint the walls?

We’ve had Ralfh’s ashes for a while now, and to-date, we have not gotten an urn.  The problem with getting the urn, so far, is that I don’t know that Pete and I see eye to eye on what kind of forever home to give Ralfh.  I saw a lovely, but sad, urn that was tragically beautiful and it spoke to me.  Meanwhile, Pete has been leaning toward a simpler more traditional urn – Maybe even ceramic.   I have had to put my foot down with ceramic though.  After watching Meet the Fockers, nah, nothing breakable.

We only looked at urns online once because I am not trying to shove the finality down Pete’s throat – but, at some point, it will have to get done.

Looking for an urn that is a mere vessel for Ralfh’s ashes, to some, might seem a minor undertaking, but it is his final resting place.  I can’t see spending more time trying to choose a color paint for my  walls than the eternal home for my faithful and loving friend – so I will take my time, and wait until we find something we can both feel good about – something we can call Ralfh’s new address.  After all, unlike the walls which can be re-painted, a forever home is forever (I know we could move him but this isn’t musical chairs so I’d kind of ilke to avoid that). 

Making decisions are part knowledge, part moral compass, part instinct and part luck.  The complexity of knowing what  your choices are, how they will affect you, others, your future, and … of course … the world if you believe in the butterfly effect can be overwhelming.  As many variables as can be imagined offer as many choices as can be imagined … when I try too hard to imagine things my head hurts … it’s hurting now … I’m done imagining. 

Simple and straight forward, if you allow your inner voice, your instinct, to be the final judge you can take comfort in doing what is right for you.  Deciding on an urn does not lend itself to instinct does it?  Maybe not; however, knowing when the right time to look at, discuss and make choices does require a real understanding of that inner voice.  Shhhhh, it’s whispering something to me now … it’s saying I’ve completely went off track.

So, Ralfhy is waiting for his new space and I am waiting on guidance.  Maybe, somewhere out there, there is a Ferdinand the Bull Urn … I might like that … but than again I might not.  I liked the Angel urn, which I have put a photo of below, but I can see how it might be too sad to always look at.  I still think it’s moving though – maybe we can get that one for when I go … kind of like the pre-payment plan.  I really should e-mail this to my kids before my birthday.  Yeah, I can see this representing the absolute devastation and sorrow of my stepping from this world on to the next … or on to wherever people like me go.  I just hope I get to see Ralfhy again wherever that is.  I hope he has a chew bone too.  

R.I.P. Ralfh, you will always have a home with us.

I invite you to send any suggestions to Marjie923@gmail.com

 

I know it’s kind of sad, but it speaks to me.

Love Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry … Awwww Who’s Kidding Who …

When I was young there was a sappy movie with a sappy line that just dangled from the tip of a truckload of tongues that were hiding behind it to avoid taking responsibility. That line was “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” I take issue with that, and always have. If love means never saying you’re sorry – than it is a love that never achieves true forgiveness. Instead, to me, love means feeling safe to say you’re sorry – and knowing you’ll be forgiven. But forgiving is more than just saying “I forgive you.” Again, we can look to our furry (and in my case drooling) friends as an example. There was nothing that I could ever do that Ralfh would not forgive.

Stop shaking your head and thinking that I’m really stretching my credibility because I’m not. When a dog does not really forgive you, they will show it. You will see it in various ways, but see it you will. If you are negligent with feeding your friend they will show you by scavenging and begging. They cannot trust that you will provide consistently, so they get their own. (Dogs scavenge some based on their natures; however, this will be taken to a whole other level when they are fearing starvation). If you strike your friend liberally, they will demonstrate distrust in a downcast demeanor or by flinching at your sudden motions. If you emotionally abandon your friend they will do whatever they can, good or bad, for a scrap of attention. Yes, if you wrong your pet, your pet will let you know.

That brings me to Ralfhikins. I was fortunate in having a relationship with my little man where when I did him wrong (and it did happen from time to time) I was forgiven. Ralfh was very aware that he was loved, and as a result could find forgiveness rather easily. Actually, I think he forgave me as much for him as he did for me. Love is a trust that needs to be nurtured and respected, so showing that respect means being truly repentant when there is a betrayal in that trust. For instance, there were times when, rather than rushing home to let him go out (which he needed quite bad by the time I would get home) I would keep him waiting. Whether because I left work late, went out for a drink to listen to a ranting co-worker or just because of train delays – I would keep little man waiting. When I would return Ralfh had waited. He did not allow for mistakes fearing I would not be back soon, because I took his needs seriously, and as a result when I did make him wait I came to him repentant. I trusted him enough to say, and show, I was sorry – and Ralfh showed his forgiveness with his self-control when it would happen again.

This, of course, cuts both ways. For example, despite the best intentions one time I was especially late and Ralfh could wait no more. When I returned home there was Ralfh, eyes downcast and his usual playful excitement conspicuously missing. He knew what was laying on the floor was wrong, and his guilt manifested in his demeanor. The long face in front of me was sorry – and because I knew how hard he always tried, I quickly forgave him. Sure, I gave him an “awwwww Ralfhy, what did you do.” With a tsk tsk thrown in, but I quickly cleaned the mess, gave him some reassurance affection, and let it go. His excitement and playfulness returned and all was right in the world. Did he do it again the next time I was late? No. His sorry little self was sincere in the same way my sorry little self was – so forgiveness came easily.

Relationships that are closest to our hearts are to be treasured and respected. If you do honor to those relationships you accept responsibility for your mistakes with a truly sincere regret that transcends mere words. If you honor those you love you offer true forgiveness which allows you to move past an transgressions, putting them behind you, to never revisit them again. It takes strength to give and accept apologies so deeply that the transgression may as well have never occurred at all. It is the truest demonstration of trust and love to give such faith to another.

I admit that I don’t always give that level of forgiveness, but I try. It’s a trait that is frequently mistaken for naïveté, and maybe it is, but I prefer to believe that it’s a demonstration that emotionally I am nearly as well developed as Ralfh was.

R.I.P. My Ralfhykins – you are still my little baby.

Destiny, Free Will and Ralfh

There are those times when you can feel, in the pit of your stomach, that something was meant to be. You find yourself doing something, meeting someone or being somewhere that, despite being completely new to you, you immediately get a sense of familiarity with. Those déjà vu moments which exist somewhere in the back of your mind. I’ve always believed that those moments were a sign that my life is on track – they’re a comfort.

The counter-argument to those who believe in destiny is free will. If we are creatures of free will, and our lives are a result of those decisions, than how can there be a destiny. How is your future pre-arranged when every free willed choice potentially changes the course of your life, like the butterfly effect. But, these two ideas can co-exist. That union of theories came to exist on the day that Pete and I met Ralfh.

For some time I had wanted to get a dog. After cajoling Pete, I found a dog up for adoption and thought it the ideal breed. He would be big and manly looking for Pete while being loyal, gentle and loving for me – bullmastiff. I reached out and arranged to meet the dog with its current owner who was moving and unable to keep him. I went to where we were to meet and waited, and waited and waited some more. They never showed, and we never heard from them again. Poof. I was very disappointed, but Pete was more so. Now that he had gotten information on the breed he decided that this was the one and only dog for him. We were going to get a bullmastiff no matter what.

I started looking for one up for adoption, and was very close to giving up and going to a breeder when it happened – bullmastiff puppies for adoption. It was all we could hope for, so I called to meet the brood in hopes of finding our new dog. We called and arranged to meet, and although quite a distance away, we couldn’t be more excited. There was a steep $500 adoption fee, but given the way so many people ultimately treat, and easily discard dogs, it was more than reasonable.

We arrived at the house where a lovely family who absolutely doted on the Mom, Dad and litter of little ones, introduced us to three boys and a little girl. I should add that the father dog and I had immediately hit it off. Although we were warned that he was cranky and unpredictable because of an ear infection, he was open to being my new pal. He was a huge mastiff, bigger than Ralfh had ever grown to be, with a ginormous head and paws the size of baseball gloves. He kept approaching me and I would tentatively pet him carefully avoiding his ears. I suppose, at some point, I had become distracted because suddenly this massive boy got up onto his two back legs, and gently landed them on my shoulders with the grace of a prima ballerina, he had won me over.

We went to the yard to see the puppies, which to be honest, were the size of a medium sized adult dog. There were 2 dogs that were in the running for our future baby, one was reddish and black – the other was fawn with a black mask. The fawn one had a scratch on his nose that resulted from tussling with his red and black brother. At first I was leaning heavily toward the slightly larger, fatter red dog while Pete clicked immediately with his slightly smaller, less aggressive brother. So, we watched them.

When we were able to spend some up close and personal time with the puppies, it was obvious the the fawn one was meant to be Pete’s dog – they clicked at first sight and whatever I might have thought originally, this would be the one. I sat looking at little man face to face, and I saw the hint of a face that I had known once before – my ex father-in-law and the only Grandpa my little girl would ever really know, or love – so, despite this being Pete’s choice, I had made one myself, I wanted to name him Ralfh. That declaration was met with a new piece of surprising information – his father, the gentle giant I had befriended immediately, was also named Ralfh. It was a sign, it was destiny – yet, because of my choice to get a dog, because of the original owners choice to not show, because of Pete’s choice to get a bullmastiff no matter what, because of my choice to keep trying to find one in need of adopting, because of Pete’s choice to choose the fawn dog and because of my choice to trust his instinct – because ALL of these choices, made of our own Free Will, choices made in both our intellect and in our hearts, we had found the one and only dog that was absolutely meant to be ours. We met our Ralfh.

So the question of destiny and free will has been answered for me – in a person who is open in both mind and heart the free will decisions will walk hand in hand with destiny. To believe that one exists does not cancel out a belief in the other. If anything they compliment one another. If we are true to the best there is in our nature, with good intentions and with love, our free will choices will be the right choices. If our free will choices are the right choices they will most assuredly lead us down the road to our destiny. And, when we look into the eyes of our own Ralfh’s, we will know without hesitation that we have allowed both our will and our fate to bring us to this place.

Ralfh when he first became ours – 6 months

 

R.I.P. My Little Ralfhy

I Wonder, What Color Ralfh’s Parachute Was

Over the years, time and time again, I’ve tried to read the book, What Color Is Your Parachute. If you are unfamiliar, it is a best selling book written by Richard Nelson that helps the reader to discover the ideal career for them (at least that’s the claim). It was one of those books that, no matter how many times I tried, or how good my intentions, I could NOT bring myself to read. But, how does this apply to thoughts of Ralfh? It’s not as though he could read (although if he could I would buy him tons of comics just because the idea of him sitting there, reading the funnies and laughing, makes me smile).  But I digress.  It’s not as though Ralfh could go out into the world and choose a career his personality would compliment. What makes me think of Ralfh is how utterly and completely he was ill-suited to engage in his breed’s chosen profession.

The Pedigree site states:

Bullmastiffs were bred to catch, pin and hold down poachers in the forests of England. The gamekeepers needed an agile, strong and obedient dog, so they crossed the English Mastiff and the British Bulldog. These dogs were more aggressive than is considered either necessary or acceptable in today’s Bullmastiff.

Now that brings us to Ralfh.

Ralfh was absolutely strong and, as I said previously, very obedient – but what he wasn’t was the type of dog to take off running through the forest to pin down poachers.  It wasn’t that Ralfh was afraid, because he wasn’t.  And it is certainly not a stain on his personality – because I would not change a thing about him.  What it was boiled down to his temperament and his sense of priorities.

When I try to find the words to describe Ralfh’s personality, I am drawn to an image from my childhood.  My brother had a record, which he played to death, called Ferdinand the Bull.  If you are unfamiliar with it you can read it for free online here: Ferdinand Free Online … shhhh … you didn’t see this here.  Basically, it’s the story of a peace-loving bull who would rather sniff the flowers than go into the bullring.  Despite others trying to coax him, he stayed true to his nature and, inevitably, got to live out his days in peace.  That story is about Ralfhy, who is, ironically, a BULLmastiff.

Ralfh’s nature being what it was enjoyed affection, enjoyed people, enjoyed lounging out all day, and enjoyed his clumsy frolicking through the rooms.   We often noted that should we ever have a burglar get into the house, Ralfh would run up to him wagging his tail and waiting to get pet.  There was never even the remotest of possibilities that we would ever come home and find Ralfh atop a burglar in an aggressive, or in any way threatening, way.  Ralfh was to home protection what a fly swatter is to a surface to air missile.  It was who he was, and he was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to live on the outside the life he loved on the inside.

Too many people get themselves trapped into careers that is in no way congruent to the principles and beliefs of who they are.  Money is great, fame is great, shutting your parents whining up is great … but is it great enough to die inside for.  Is it truly necessary to squash who you are inside to appease who has projected your future on to you (and that incudes yourself – convincing  yourself that it is for the best).  I know because I talk from experience.

I wake every day to head off to a job that on a good day is non-eruptive and results in finishing whatever is thrown at me, on a normal day it is an anonymous unappreciated contribution to a company who will never allow you to reach your full potential, and on a bad day (well for me anyway) I mumble vague obscenities and throw pencils.  Unfortunately, my mumblings have been going up in volume.  Once upon a time I had ideas on who I wanted to be.  I had always hoped to teach, work in law enforcement or join the military (shiny guns – pretty), be a psychiatrist (how’d you like me putzing around inside your head) or just do something that would allow me to control my own environment while also helping people.  Trust me when I say this, my present job could not be further away from those ideals.  So, I go on, day after day forcing myself out the door, on to the subway, down the crowded city streets, up the elevator filled with the snooty talk of those who obviously have no clue how they sound and to my desk where all hope dies.  OMG what happened to my life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  But I digress, again, I need to control those outbursts.

I realize that dogs have it right.  Although there are some species whose inherent traits are predictors for their future development – dogs are not among them.  Doubt me?  Just take a look at the Chihuahua.  There’s a dog who is just about the right size to punt.  There isn’t a Chihuahua alive that wouldn’t have fit into Ralfh’s mouth.  Yet, go up to any Chihuahua having a bad day and you will see some serious gangsta shit.  You would think they were 20 feet tall and had razors for teeth the way they come at you.  Meanwhile, there’s Ralfh, content to rest his weary head upon your lap, to lie at your feet snoring his smooth, rhythmic snore, to gallop at you full speed yet no more than brush against your pant leg as he awaits even a small display of love.  I hope one day to have the wisdom to toss aside the shackles of my professional conformity and do as Ralfhy, and Ferdinand, would do. Just stop and smell the roses.

R.I.P. Ralfhy … Happy Valentine’s Day

If Ralfh Knew How I Felt, Why Couldn’t Anyone Else Figure it Out

Ralfh always seemed to know what I was feeling, right up through the end. How? I’m not sure but it was like the Service Dogs that can predict a panic attack in someone with PTSD. This intuitiveness exists in dogs but, on the most part, not in people.

Without saying a word Ralfh would come to me and lay his head on my lap whenever I was blue. He just knew. One time, rather late, I took Ralfh out for a walk. Down the block a cat (or squirrel) darted across the sidewalk. Ralfh immediately set off in hot pursuit. Not expecting that particular move by Ralfh (it was in the early days of having him) I fell on to the pavement and was dragged painfully (but reminiscent of a kite) down the block. Ralfh, seeing what he had done’ abandoned his chase and stood beside me. When I tried to stand I realized that my ankle had been injured in the fray. Ralfh knew, his eyes locked into mine, waiting. When I finally began hopping home Ralfh could not have walked slower or more gentle steps, not tugging me at all. His determination to remain by my side showed his unusual level of concern.

I haunts me how Ralfh knew how much I needed him in the end, and he remained beside me even as his life slipped away.

People, because the noise of language, do not identify feeling as well as a dog who watches, without mental distraction, and learns from what he observes. When there is a strange energy, or the person that you are with starts acting peculiar, our language immediately jumps in. We try to find words to make clear what emotions are in play. Emotions which we are trying to verbalized using our limited language and the one dimensional picture that these words can paint. Try this … Imagine sitting outside, looking across the horizon as the sun slowly rises, the glow of the sun makes everything visible to take on the most beautiful colors you have ever seen. A gentle breaze brushes across you as the warmth of the rising sun touches upon your skin.  Close your eyes and really try to feel it.  Now, try to describe that feeling in such a way as to completely capture your emotions as you experienced that magnificent moment in time. Those words might describe the sunrise in the most glowing of terms, but it can never make someone truly understand what you felt being there.

As crazy as it sounds, my suggestion is to do as Ralfh did for me – observe.  Open your heart, use your eyes and keep you mouth still.  Experience, through sight – expressions, movement, body language, breathing what another person is feeling, or what they are seeking from you. 

R.I.P. My Houndoggy

Mommy Loves You