Monday, February 14, 2011

Happy Valentine's Day, Sugar!

You didn't get flowers. I did. You didn't get chocolate; it's poisonous for dogs. Poor dogs, I feel for you. But you did get diced-up leftover tandoori chicken. I believe that on your canine palate, tandoori chicken was as good as any chocolate truffle. If it wasn't, you put on a good show for me, sweet compassionate little beast.

And another treat! For Valentine's Day I made an appointment for your first session at the groomer's, next Friday. I know you're going to thank me for that. All those razors and scissors, hoses, sudsy water, brushes and combs, ear swabs, tear stain solution. But think of how you'll look. Poodles are aristocratic dogs, and I'm told they feel unsettled if their appearance is neglected. Well, many women, especially on Valentine's Day, support your sensitivity on that issue, Sugar. So consider yourself lucky; think of it as a spa day.

Now on to you, dear reader. Am I wrong to suspect you're still wondering about the tandoori chicken? You wonder whether we're Indian, possibly "B'nai Menashe," one of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, lost to history until some weeks or months ago when located in Northern India. The one the new science of genetics very recently discovered languishing in the Far East (still genetically Jewish, but tandoori-loving and chopped liver-disdaining) and flown en masse back to the Homeland. But no, we're not that exotic. Indian food is as close as we've ever been to India, and now that cuisine has an additional significance in modern life, also tending towards the spiritual, as you shall soon understand.

This past weekend Sugar had an excellent adventure. For one thing, she met her first human child, a little two-year-old named Lucia. Lucia was here as a guest, the daughter of old childhood friends of my son Matt's. Matt was in NY on business, so they decided to rendezvous at his boyhood home, now chez Sugar, for an overnight visit.

I hadn't seen these young people in years. Who knew how they lived, what they ate? Matt couldn't give me much prior information. These days eating is itself a sort of religion. One has to be careful of what one puts on the table in order not to offend. It's a very PC world. People do get offended. In the olden days, if, as guests, we were not to eat something, we merely pushed the offending food around the plate. But we never said anything. So I decided to order in.

Indian food is safe. If guests are vegetarian or vegan, there's always something for them to eat. Lots of rice and lentils if all else is verboten. And tandoori chicken for the unenlightened. It goes without saying that pork will not be on the menu. In the end they turned out to be locavores. If you don't know what that means, contact me privately.

The friends arrived first. Lucia and Sugar circled each other for a few minutes, then wrestled over toys for half an hour or so. I offered cheese and crackers. At last the man of the hour trod across the threshold. My son Matt.

When Sugar beheld the face of her brother, it was electrifying. Her eyes went momentarily dim. Much like the reunion of Jacob and Esau; such fierce passion. She lost all reason. She skidded about on the tiles then jumped into his arms and planted a wet Valentine on his lips, a couple in his ears  and made multiple forays up his nostrils. He didn't even have to be introduced for her to go to work on him. No. Blood knows blood. They were soldered together from the first moment to the last, with only the brief interlude of a mid-Saturday afternoon nap draped round hubby's neck.

When Matt departed, backpack slung on his shoulder, carry-on luggage dragged down the driveway, Sugar gazed after him, leaving a steamy smear on the glass door. How to console her? How help her forget?

Tandoori chicken, canine cure-all to the rescue. Better than roses. Anyway, roses are poisonous to dogs. So many different diets. Happy Valentine's Day. Safest to give a card. Though that can also be eaten. And can be poisonous...

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Can Jewish Moms make Poodle Pups Neurotic?

YES WE CAN!

Here's how toy Poodles are advertised: Put her in your purse and take her everywhere!

Well, not so fast. Aside from the fact, mentioned in an earlier post, that dogs are welcome almost nowhere in today's nanny state, the weather in the northeastern United States has made it virtually impossible for even Humans to go everywhere, never mind puppies in purses. It's just not that simple.

First of all, picture the landscape outside the back door: snow covered by ice, blown into an igloo by a wind storm, completely obscuring the furniture on the deck.

So I want to take her out, but there are so many obstacles. First I need her to release my Uggs from between her sharp little teeth. Then I need to put one on before she runs away with the other. She needs to wear her sweater, which she won't let me put over her front legs and head. And all that's before we venture through the door. (Full disclosure: complete failure so far. Sugar has never been outside except to go to the vet twice, in her carry-all; hasn't put paw to earth in her life.) This has to stop, I know. It's completely unacceptable, abnormal. And it is my fault.

But when I merely open the back door, Sugar begins to shake all over.

"Sugar," I beg, "don't you want to be like other dogs? To romp outdoors in the admittedly rock-hard snow?" Sugar scratches her hind parts as if I didn't just brush her, knowing Poodles get matted and must be brushed daily. Is she trying deliberately to make me look bad? "Sugar," I say sternly, "look at me." Sugar lowers her head to the floor ewe-like and mosies to her fleece-covered leopard-spotted bed adjacent to the space heater in the kitchen.

Well, I decided to take action. I hired a canine teacher, an expert. In one private lesson I learned that mom must have treats on her at all times for pup to know that when mom says "Come, Sugar," it means COME. One doesn't repeat the command. That's the most important lesson to teach a puppy, I found out. The "come" command (or request; Scott the trainer tells me it's more enlightened to say request these days, not that dogs are that sensitive to linguistic nuances, I imagine, but still we should be PC); the "come" command must always be followed by a food treat. And one must be unfailingly consistent. Scott advised me to get a kind of pet fanny-pack (which he wears) to carry around my pickled tongue and lox treats on my person, so there's never a time that I say, "Come, Sugar," and am unable to provide the food treat instantly. This is critical to conditioning dogs (and presumably getting Sugar outside someday).

Frankly, I've never been a big fan of fanny-packs. And I didn't see why I should invest in that kind of accessory when I already have about six dinner bags with long straps that I rarely use anymore. One of them is quite lovely, a Valentino bag, gold with a rhinestone logo fastening, that my daughter abjures and I couldn't sell on Ebay. So I sling that over my three layers of frigid weather clothing and wear it around the house. This way, Sugar knows that whenever I say, "Come, Sugar," she will be appropriately and consistently rewarded. And do you know what? It works. Sugar's never missed her cue. Not till today, when I cracked the back door open a smidgen.

It was sunny, strangely. Freezing but sunny. I dispensed with the outdoor gear, no boots, no sweater. Put some deli roast beef (medium rare) into my Valentino bag, opened the door, backed up as far as the gas grill and said, "Come, Sugar." I put on my merriest voice, as they tell you to do in the books. I knew not to repeat myself. Just held a morsel of beef on my palm and waited. I knew that Sugar knew. Sugar knew that I knew that Sugar knew. It was a stand-off. It was cold. I was outside and Sugar was in.

What to do? Give up all the gains and repeat the command? I mean the request? No way. The trainer costs big bucks. I inched closer to Sugar who stood stoically in the doorway. I, on hands and knees, on the creaking, frozen deck boards, beef on palm, waited for Sugar to comply. Sugar bent down too. Put her nose on the threshold. "Good girl!" I coaxed. We were nose to beef; my hind parts exposed to the wind, my Valentino bag dragging on the salt pellets.

The elements have a way of leveling stations in life. I was cold, Sugar, not so much. I wanted in, more than I wanted to win. Sugar's no dope. She held her ground.

I repeated the command, lame Human that I am, as if she wouldn't perceive my weakness.

"Please, Sugar," I said. "I'm begging you to eat this piece of meat. We can call it a draw. I don't care who's boss. Even though my being boss is for your own good, and you ought to remember that it's not for myself that I want you to go outside, I can live without it..." By the time I'd rationalized the whole thing to her she'd flicked out her tiny tongue, which has the consistency of wet velvet, swallowed the roast beef and curled up in her fleece bed. I, meanwhile, was trying to unravel my contorted body while figuring out a way to explain it all to Scott next Tuesday.

Lesson learned: between mothers and daughters it's always complicated. Do we need a trainer or a therapist? Suggestions solicited.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Canine Gastronomy

Sugar has news for Purina. And Iams; and the makers of canned organic dog food; and all producers of kibble. Sugar, a Poodle puppy, speaking for all canines, does not like to eat the same food every day. Call her picky, but she's made it clear to her Human. Three times a day I present her with expensive dog food. And three times a day, what does she do? She meanders towards the bowl, sniffs at if once or twice as though it's full of dead bugs, then turns tail and high-steps it back to her toys.

Not to worry, Animalists of the world. I'm not starving her. She does her obedience work (a ruse for giving her rich treats) and manages to snaffle down quantities of pickled tongue, Kosher hot dogs (all beef, low fat, low sodium), turkey chili, Kings' chopped liver, and Scottish smoked salmon wheels filled with veggie cream cheese. These, she eats like a hog (pardon me, Sugar, should you ever learn to read, for the unflattering allusion).

In fact, we went to the vet for her second checkup today, and Sugar has gained 25% of her former body weight. She's gone from 3 pounds to 4, in three weeks. I was nervous at the vet's, afraid I'd come up short, that Dr. Lauren would eye me as some kind of ogre, that Sugar would be underweight because she doesn't eat the three "wholesome" meals daily I've been brainwashed by the pet food industry to put before her in her pink bowl.

So, after her recovery from her two shots, one against rabies that really hurt, and after vomiting in her carry-all in the car on the way home, I allowed her digestive system to rest for awhile while I tried to figure out how to craft the proper diet for a tiny canine.

Dinner time arrived. I got out the pink bowl. I was thinking kibble, I was thinking can. Sugar gazed at me. I gazed back at her. I reached for the huge bag of healthy-for-the-teeth organic kibble. Sugar whimpered and tilted her ears.

Then it hit me. A house pet is not an animal, really. A house pet is a member of the household.

Sugar's not stupid. Poodles are the geniuses of dogdom. She sees what we eat. She gets the scraps in so-called training sessions and when her Human just feels generous. She knows. We don't eat the same food every day.

I hope that Purina and Iams and all the other dog food manufacturers don't try to advertise on this site (fat chance), because they'd have a rude awakening. Sugar's Human broke all the rules for puppy feeding. Here's what I gave her for din-din: a bit of kibble  (her teeth! who wants to take a chance?) totally masked by a spoonful of chopped liver, all moistened with chicken soup -- with noodles and veggies, of course. This Sugar gulped down with the kind of abandon every mother loves to see in her young. She ate a real meal! In her pink bowl. Not from my fingers. I was kvelling. I praised her to high heaven. Gave her an extra piece of lox.

So what's the moral of the story? I believe it is that all sentient beings love variety. We don't want to eat the same meals every day, we don't want to think the same thoughts every day (though we mostly do), we abhor a life of endless monotony. We don't really believe advertising.

When you bring a Poodle puppy into your home you must assume that the puppy will grow to be like you. And so Sugar has: We like the same foods, we like them switched around, we're both kind of beige-ish blond, we both don't like to get really dirty, we both like to kiss on the lips, we both like to eat frequently and in small quantities. Maybe there's some truth to adage that Humans resemble their dogs. I'm not sure though in our case who's influencing whom. But I'm sure of one thing: food is the key to intimacy. When you know what your significant others, any one of them, likes to eat, you hold the key to his or her heart. I want to hold and turn that key. Because I think I'm in love. Puppy love is like baby love: so special, so warm, so lovely. It lifts one to a higher sphere of experience. Knowing what gives your little loved one pleasure: so simple, so pure.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Two X-rated jokes from Sugar

Sugar overheard a couple of dirty-ish jokes the other day as her Human was chatting on the phone with her friend Lynda from New York. She laughed so hard she had to hold her sides with her paws. Now she wants to share them with you. Actually, Sugar's not sure she gets the jokes, so if she doesn't tell them very well, you'll understand and won't scoff. She's just a beginner.

Sugar says:

Two yeshiva bochers go into a bar to have a drink. While they're sitting at the bar, a sexy blonde sidles up and sits next to one of the yeshiva bochers. She whispers in his ear, "Can I give you a blow job?"

The yeshiva bocher rushes red-faced out into the street. His friend runs after him. "What did she say to you?" his friend asks.

"I don't know exactly, I didn't hear it all. But it was something about a job."

Ba-dum.

An elderly couple in their nineties lives in a nursing home. They're in separate rooms, but they still like to have sex. They arrange to meet every afternoon in the TV room, where they sit in their wheel chairs and pretend to watch television, while she holds his penis.

One afternoon the husband doesn't show up. The wife wonders, but doesn't say anything. Next day he doesn't show up again. She wheels herself into his room and confronts him.

"Have you found someone else?" she demands. He shrugs.

"Is she younger than me?" "No," he says.

"So, is she prettier?" "He shakes his head.

"So what does she have that I don't have?"

"Parkinson's," he says.

Oy, forgive Sugar. She's entering her tweens and testing the waters of young adulthood. She should know better, but it's a rainy gloomy afternoon and one must entertain oneself somehow.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

On a Day When There's Nothing to Add

On a day like today, when the populations of the world huddled together on top of the earth's axis, watching, waiting, to see what will shake out of Egypt and change the world order forever, Sugar took the pause that refreshes.

Aware there was not a single thing she could do to affect the outcome, bored already with the displays of camels, horses, Molotov cocktails lighting the Cairo night sky, one eyelid drooping as the crowds pumped their fists and shouted slogans, Sugar decided to take a Zen day. She said no to learning anything new. She's watched ABC's Christiane Amanpour's interview with Hosni Mubarak and feels she now knows everything she needs to know till tomorrow's NEW news.

Sphinx-like, her world turns moment by moment. She doesn't remember the past and doesn't fret about the future. She's not a current events junkie like her Human. If she could speak English she'd say, WTF, there's always something horrible going on...where's my pickled tongue?

I admonished her. "Sugar," I said. "Where's your sense of civic duty? We must remain active and vigilant to survive in this world, Sugar. We planned to learn the Stay today." Sugar yawned till her eyes rolled back in her skull, then lay her belly on the floor and stretched her legs out as far as they would go.

Oh, I thought. She wants to start by doing some Yoga. I unrolled my purple mat. Lay on the mat, flat on my back, yawned and stretched my legs and arms out as far as they would go. All the while Sugar licked my face, both nostrils, two ear canals, and nibbled the chin hair I've been too lazy to pluck. In my Zen haze I wondered whether Sugar could eventually be trained to nip off that coarse hair, but never mind, it was only a daydream.

Yes, I exhaled. I'm setting a good example for my dog. She IS learning something today. She's learning how to step back from the world, learning perspective. Thank God puppies have Humans to teach them how to think and conduct their lives. Otherwise, they'd live in abject misery -- like your average Egyptian.

"Tomorrow we'll learn the Stay", I mumbled to Sugar. If there is a tomorrow, my internal Jewish voice jumped in.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

News Flash: Sugar Notices the News

Sugar, who is nobody's fool, took to watching TV news today when the camel corps galloped into Cairo's Tahrir Square. I think there were horses, or nags or something, as well, because Sugar kept yipping at the crowds separating and jostling on the screen.

She sat down right in front of the set and lifted her front paw when a picture appeared showing a camel rider slashing a large sign with a photo of Mubarak touched up to resemble Hitler, with a little black mustache and swept-over-the-forehead hair.

Sugar held her right paw in mid-air. It looked like a salute.

I yelled, "Stop it, Sugar!" I hope she isn't a fan of the Mubarak regime. That wouldn't make her a popular Poodle. And naturally, we want our little ones to grow up to be popular among their peers, lest they feel like dorks. For a parent (or a human) there's nothing more humiliating than a teen's accusing eyes, eyes that moodily say, "You made me turn out this way. I have no friends and it's all because of you." 

We also did some clicker training today. Today's lesson, with the help of Cheerios and tiny bits of pickled tongue, was, "Look me in the eye, Sugar," then click, then toss a Cheerio on the floor. It's very important for the young to look you straight in the eye, for their own safety. Sugar got it. She's terribly intelligent. I hope she's not betting on the wrong horse (or camel) in Egypt.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Sugar Ignores Egypt

This morning, with Egyptian fellahin ranting on the TV news, Sugar managed to ignore all noisy rioting and learned The Sit. Yes, friends, she is the genius of the canine kingdom.

We started with clicker training, but progressed within the hour to the verbal cue (naturally, there was a treat involved; in this case, Cheerios, which she adores even more than pickled tongue, to which Jewish Poodles seem to be partial, though the tongue I bought is from the French recipe, not wanting to take unnecessary chances). The Sit is a big deal. No more jumping up. No more uncivilized beastliness. Sugar sits on command, even with the television blaring. Sugar is becoming a trained dog. My desire for her is to be the best behaved dog in town. A dog one can take anywhere, in my purse even. Only glitch in my dream is that no one will have her anymore: where can you take even a tiny dog these days? To a cafe? The supermarket? The deli? The therapist? No. Signs everywhere: No Pets Allowed. Rules everywhere. With all the business about animal rights, it seems to me that dogs have fewer rights than ever, fewer rights of assembly than Egyptians. Maybe someday, when she's a mature dog, when she grows to her full weight of 5 pounds, she can rally house pets in Lafayette Park to bark and mew and cheep their heads off for their legitimate rights.

But Sugar's human, sadly, IS interested in the upheavals in the Middle East. And Sugar's human is not optimistic. Without haranguing you, precious reader, with opinions about El Baradei and the Muslim Brotherhood, I will make just one prediction:

I predict that before Egyptians enjoy Western-style democracy (versus Muslim-style Sharia "democracy," involving stonings, beheadings, amputations and suchlike for infractions of the law), Sugar will be taught to jump through flaming hula hoops. Just one human's prediction, and God I wish it weren't so. But she's so... damned...smart.