Good Bye Old Friend

You'll have to excuse me if this post is a bit emotional. I'll follow the old journalistic rule and get right to the lead. Yesterday afternoon I had to put my dog Baloo to sleep. She had been a part of our family for over 15 years. I know that this is one of the curses that all pet owners/lovers must endure, so some of you will know exactly what my family is going through, because you have endured it yourself. If you don't have a pet, or have a young, healthy one, you may want to avoid the rest of this post like an afternoon screening of "Marley and Me". The idea of eulogizing a dog seems a bit odd, since Baloo never made any huge contributions to society, except for keeping our grass green with repeated fertilizing, but she made an impact on me, and really, in my world, isn't that what matters the most?

Baloo was my first pet. Growing up, my parents always said that raising five boys was enough work and they weren't going to add to their responsibilities by bringing another animal into the family. I was also very allergic to dogs as a kid. Looking back, that may have all been a ruse by my folks to keep the house canine free, since I've had dogs for the last decade and a half and never so much as sneezed while nuzzling them. Wow, what a breakthrough. My parents diabolical plot has finally been brought to light.

"Wife" started talking about getting a dog as soon as we were married. Well, she waited a few days because "I want a dog" doesn't make for romantic honeymoon pillow talk. I insisted on waiting until we had a house, because I always thought it unfair for a dog not to have a yard in which to run and play. We had been married two years when we bought our first house and a month after moving in "Wife" convinced me to take a ride to the Humane Society. We looked at a lot of dogs that day, but one grabbed both our attention at the same time. She was part of a litter that had been abandoned at the Humane Society during a thunderstorm. She was fluffy and black with tan legs and markings and we were told she was about three months old. She seemed very shy, staying away from the rest of the litter, but she came up to us and we spent a little while with her before deciding that this little fur ball would be our first dog. We named her Baloo based on my love of the bear in "The Jungle Book". I know, that bear was male, but after a visit to the vet, our Baloo wasn't exactly female, so it worked. We never were able to discern exactly what breed Baloo was, so "mutt" had to suffice, but she had some Border Collie or herding dog in her, because that dog could run. She would spend hours racing around the backyard, running so fast on the turns that she was almost on her side.

We were diligent first time dog owners. I read all sorts of books on training puppies, going so far as to put my mouth on her neck while she laid on her back so she would know that I was the lead dog. That was an illusion that she shattered many times. We got an old fashioned wind up alarm clock to keep her company because the books said it reminded a puppy of it's mother's heartbeat. Sure it did, until "Mom's heart" started ringing at 7:00 am due to a slip of the switch. We also got her numerous Muppet Baby Big Bird dolls to keep her company. I say numerous because Baloo had a habit of chewing out the eyes of all the Big Birds we gave her. Just the eyes. Any pet psychologists want to handle that one?

Baloo's shyness always stayed with her. She loved women and kids, but hated most men. She would bark incessantly at my brothers (a good judge of character?) and most of my friends, but she always responded warmly to me, my dad and my Uncle Bob. Baloo was fond of hiding. She staked out places in all of our homes that became the first places we would look for her. She made her own little refuge behind a chair in the family room, and would go there for a little "doggy quiet time". When we got a new bed that had a higher frame, she made the space under the bed her personal den. She would spend hours under there, coming out when she set her mind to it and not before. We would know she was on her way when we'd hear the clawing on the carpet and the jingle of her tags. Since she got too old to climb the stairs, I've missed knowing that she was asleep under the bed. I could put my hand over the side, and suddenly a cold nose and wet tongue would give me a reassuring nudge.

I'm not an expert dog behaviorist, but sometimes animals amaze me. This dog, that in a lot of ways was afraid of her own shadow, became a fierce protector when "Daughter" was born. Baloo would sleep next to the bassinet and later "Daughter's" crib and come find us when "Daughter" started to cry. If we handed the baby to someone, that was fine, but if anyone reached for the baby without our permission, Baloo would bark, letting them know that that was a mistake. Baloo was patient with "Daughter" as she grew up, sitting quietly while our curious toddler petted her a bit too hard or pulled her tail. Baloo would look at "Wife" and I as if to say "OK, I know she's with you, but how about a lesson in gentleness?" It didn't take long for "Daughter" to learn how to treat Baloo and learn the compassion for animals that will last throughout her life.

Baloo was a good teacher for the other dogs that came into our lives as well. She mentored Max when he joined us the year after she did, and despite being 10 when Spike became part of the family after Max's untimely death, taught the new rambunctious pup who was the "big dog". She was a bit neurotic, going through phases where she would lick a spot on her legs bare, but none of that changed the way we felt about her, or her about us. She was always happy to jump on the couch and would spend as much time as we would allow with her head on our lap, soaking up some well deserved petting.

The last year was somewhat tough for Baloo. We knew she had a bad hip and arthritis, but with medication and weight loss (The green bean diet. It actually worked. ) she was walking pretty well. Last March she had an episode where she fell over and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Our vet, who had treated her since we got her (except for our time in California) diagnosed her with an enlarged heart. Her eyesight and hearing were going as well, but that was chalked up to old age. We were told that she could go at any time, but if we kept her on certain meds once a day, she wouldn't be in any pain. We did what all pet lovers do and began giving her the medicine religiously. She made a great recovery and despite being a little slower, seemed to be doing well. The entire family kept the knowledge of Baloo's health in the back of our minds and knew that the time would come that when we would either find her gone on her own, or have to make the decision that no one wants to make.

Last month I took Baloo to the vet. He examined her and again told me that she wasn't suffering, but could go at any time and that "I would know" when the time came to make the final decision. I'll confess to a bit of selfishness in not wanting to say goodbye, but last week, we sat down as a family and realized that we needed to do what was best for our friend. There is no need to go into the details of our last visit to the vet, but I will say that I was with Baloo until the end. It reminds me of the section of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men when Candy let someone else take his dog away and shoot it. A man has to tend to his own dog. This was the second time I've had to tend to my own dog in that way. Baloo went gently. I hope she knew that I was with her and that fact made it a bit more peaceful. I know it did for me.

The rug by the front door is where she spent the majority of the last few months, and she was the first thing I'd see when I came downstairs each morning. The rug is empty today, and that emptiness is causing a great deal of sadness in our home. That sadness will permeate the house for a while, but all the good memories of Baloo will eventually push it aside, and we will all move on. Spike is feeling it too. He's been moping around since yesterday afternoon, looking for his companion, his teacher, his friend.

I'm not very good at goodbyes. I'll just say "See ya later Pal." Thanks Baloo. You were a great dog. No matter what happened in our lives, you were a constant source of unconditional love, laughter and at times frustration. We were all fortunate to have found each other that Saturday afternoon in May of 1994. Rest well. Good Girl.

Later...Brian

Home Seep Home

If it's true that "a man's home is his castle", then my castle has developed a couple indoor moats. The presence of water in unexpected places has become the major topic of conversation in our house, sending other news worthy, earth shattering questions like "who will win American Idol?", "should we invest in an ark?" and "what's that smell?" down the conversational ladder. I wish I could place the blame for all our drippage squarely at the feet of Mother Nature, but she can only be charged with a portion of the aquatic crimes. All the rain we have been getting over the last few weeks, may in fact be "good for the lawns", but listen you rain inducing wench, I don't have sod in my bathroom, so give it a rest.

Last week "Wife" pointed out that there seemed to be water coming in through the skylight in our bathroom. Who knew we even had a skylight? That's a bit of an exaggeration, I knew we had one, I just never bothered to look up while in the bathroom. I'm so busy gazing at myself in the mirror and enjoying how I look bathed in Natural light that I never took a second to consider the source of said light. With great effort, I craned my neck and, what do you know, there was water dripping from the edges of the skylight. Judging from the stains, there must have been water seeping in for a while, but it had never dripped, so we lived our lives in a kind of "head in the sand" ignorance. With my head pulled from the sand, I did what I always do in times of home repair crisis, I swore. Then I called my friend Mike. He's an architect, handy guy and the person I still blame for finding this house for us. I wanted his opinion on my next step for a couple reasons, first he has a number of light holes in his roof and second, I know if I called in some "professional" I would end up with a new roof, a sealed driveway and an appointment with a bankruptcy attorney. He looked at the offending opening and came to the same conclusion that "Wife" and I had. It was leaking. Mike offered to help with a simple repair, and being a guy who's never going to stand in the way of someone else climbing a ladder, I accepted. I'll leave out a lot of the other details of this part of the tale, but I will tell you that Mike came over yesterday afternoon, and instead of us fixing the problem from the inside, he scurried up on the roof and did some caulk magic on the outside. I'm about to go upstairs and see if the effort was successful.

The same bathroom is causing problems with plumbing leaks. We've already had to have one hole cut into our kitchen ceiling to determine the appearance of a water stain, and last week another stain appeared, indicating another water mystery. I think it would be better for houses to be built with the plumbing on the outside of the wall to expedite repairs. This morning I was "in the library" sitting on my porcelain reading chair when I heard what sounded like water pouring onto the floor. "Well I must be imagining things. There's no way water can be cascading onto my kitchen floor. That's crazy, maybe the fumes in the "library" are getting to me.", I thought, but finished my "article" quickly and went to investigate. To say that the hole in the kitchen ceiling resembled a water fall would not be too far from the truth. Water was pouring out of the ceiling faster that bar patrons at a Great White concert. What did I do? Yeah, I swore, weren't you paying attention earlier? As I yelled upstairs for towels and to alert not only "Wife" and "Daughter" but judging from my volume, the entire neighborhood, "Wife" informed me that the toilet in our bathroom was overflowing. That's right, pooh water was spilling into our kitchen at a rapid rate. I kept referring to it as "pooh water", but "Wife" wasn't buying into that. However since I'm the one who was charged with the clean up and disinfecting of the kitchen island and floor, I stand by my judgement . The only casualty, besides our bank account seems to have been the toaster. It was flooded with the pooh water and I threw it out. I don't know about you, but I would never be able to enjoy a toasty bagel knowing that at one time pooh water had filled the slots.

I had to take a break from my plumbing woes and start prepping for another "Two scoops of Brian weekend" on WGN. The big shows are taking shape and I promise to only talk about the further adventures of pooh water a little bit. I hope you can join me for all the fun Friday/Saturday from 2-5 am and Saturday/Sunday from 1-5 am. Plus, if you know a dependable, honest plumber, have them contact me. I've got to go stick more fingers in some other house related dikes. Have a great weekend. Later....Brian

It's A Swine, Swine Day

Hey. How's it going? What do you mean? I've been around. Haven't you been reading all my Facebook updates and Twitter tweets? I've gotten so into the other social network sites that now I can only think, type, speak and love in short bites. "Wife" is happy about most of them, but wishes I would type more. Ha! In the words of Ralph Malph, "I still got it!" I decided, after much chiding from friends and family (you know who you are) to toss my brain back into the saddle and see if I was once again capable of putting more than 140 characters together to form coherent thoughts. Wow, I seem to be over the limit already. See ya!

Man, I'm cracking myself up today. It must be denial over the fact that, according to all news reports, we're all about to die. Yes, happy Friday. You've been marked for death by (cue dramatic music)....Swine Flu. Now I could go into all the facts about this nasty virus, tell you to wash your hands and cover your mouth when you cough, and to not make out with pigs ( I don't care if it is closing time and you're very lonely), but that would just confuse matters. Why muddle the issue with truths when I can go into full blown fear mongering mode? Isn't that more fun? Sure it is.

Ever since the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control started bandying about the term "pandemic" the more skittish among us have headed for the figurative hills to protect themselves from this microscopic killer. We've been warned not to make any "unnecessary travel" to Mexico. What other kind is there? Unless you own a pottery factory, need to stock up on Chicklets or are a drug runner/human trafficker, all travel to Mexico is unnecessary. Fun sure, but unnecessary. Even Vice President Joe "I never met an opinion I wouldn't express at an inappropriate time" Bidden is fanning the flames, telling an already nervous America that he wouldn't get on a plane, or even the subway right now. You tell 'em Joe. Nobody wants to be stuck in an enclosed space with someone who could potentially destroy us with some flying phlegm. Run for your lives! Schools have been cancelling proms, concerts and field trips because one student in school "doesn't feel well". I don't know about you, but if I were in school, I'd be using the old, light bulb on the thermometer trick to fake some Swiney symptoms. A cough and flushed cheeks can clear a school faster than a bomb threat these days, plus the evacuation lasts longer. Not only do you get a few glorious days off, but you come back to a squeaky clean school. no more chewing gum under the desks or crudely drawn anatomy diagrams in the bathroom stalls, only the feint smell of pine and a well rested feeling. One Chicago school has banned students from shaking hands, fist bumping and hugging, but the good news is they can still shoot each other. Talk about overkill. Hit now. Do I even need to comment on all the people wearing masks outside the areas where the virus is spreading? I guess I do since there are so many nervous Nellies buying into the hysteria. Stop! If you're running out to the drug store to stock up on flu meds, don't put on a mask. One, you look like a jackass. Two, you're buying medicine that will kill the bug and three, I'm going to shoot you and say I thought I was being robbed by a masked bandito. That'll learn ya'.

Pig farmers have been whining that they're getting a bad rap, so to punish all of us, they aren't letting visitors come to the pig farms anymore. You thought going to Mexico was unnecessary. To paraphrase the great Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction "the pig is a filthy animal." Duh. Are any of us weeping over the loss of visiting privileges at Pigland? Not me. If I want to see dirty beasts wallowing in their own filth I'll visit a local swap meet in July. Pig farmers are also stressing that people can't get Swine Flu, oh I'm sorry H1N1, from eating pork products. That's absolutely true. You'll have no problems eating your favorite pork, but if you pull your favorite pork, that may lead to something unsavory. I know, but I couldn't resist.

If you're awake all night this weekend suffering from flu induced night sweats, or just living your life in the wee hours, tune in for another "Two Scoops of Brian" weekend on WGN. The "Radio Irrevernce" takes place Fri/Sat from 2-5 am and Sat/Sun from 1-5 am. I'm sure more flu fear will be mongered, people and ideas will be discussed and mocked and games will be played. The only thing missing is you. Now, go put plastic on your windows, grab your radio and head down to the basement or the shelter of your choice. I'm feeling feverish. Have a flu free weekend. Later...Brian