Hero Shot

Finally, here is a picture of the star of the show.  Jack's a hard guy to photograph, especially when your photographer has been drinking bathtub vodka for two hours prior to the shoot.  

This photo was actually taken an hour or so after Jack's first motorcycle ride.  He now has forty miles under his belt and I think he really likes it.  Initially he want to get off, but once we got moving, he started to really like it.  Of course everyone around us thought it was great, and we fell into our usual roll as the most entertaining thing on the planet.  Every driver, passenger, and pedestrian had to smile at the guy with the wolfhound riding bitch (quick note: don't tell Jack he was riding bitch, he is sensitive about the whole gender roll thing).  

That was a pleasant night though.  I took Jack to meet Will at Juvenile Hall (what we call his apartment).  I was feeling self destructive, and I needed to get out and move a bit.  I knew Jack would enjoy a change so off we went.  This was also a good opportunity to tell Will about my plan for next spring, which is to graduate and then walk across Africa and climb Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.  Then -part two- I think I will go to Canada and live in a cabin for the remainder of the year until I begin Grad school or succumb to my injuries and leave a legacy of tragedy and sad laughter along with journals which will be published and make me instantly -if unfortunately posthumously- a hero to millions.  Jack thinks this is perhaps too much to hope for and likes his ideas for a happy existence, which largely have to do with a big yard, a rubber ball (which lights up and makes noise upon impact), and the occasional stroll through the park. He may be on to something.

Saturday I had to work, but I took Jack to the lake for Venetian Night.  This was the fifty-first run, and Jack loves fireworks.  I love boats and being outside.  So, with a pinot noir, a good cigar, and my walking shoes, we went.  It was pretty fun.  Jack drew a lot of attention by a boy who chased us for two blocks -parents in tow- so he could pet Jack.  His mother was out of breath, but appreciated that I let him pet Jack.  She asked that I pass along her prayers to Alaina for a safe return.  

I also saw an opportunity to use Jack for good instead of evil: 

Walking home I saw this autistic boy being carried by his mother.  They were just walking along and as soon as the boy saw Jack, he locked on.  I was a bit behind them, but after a block of this I snatched up Jack and asked the woman if her son could pet my dog.  That boy loved it, and the mother seemed genuinely taken back by such a thing.  It was nice to have enhanced the boy's day with such a simple thing.

The adventure continues later with a new headquarters for Jack and I.

Take care.

The Tibetan Wolfhound and Beetoven's Seventh

Jack, it turns out is not a Pomeranian.  No.  He has been mislabelled and is actually a Tibetan Wolfhound or possibly a Romanian Desert Fox.  He could even be an African Snake Hunter.  Yes, he could be any of these things, but he cannot be a Pomeranian.  Why?  Because I can not have a Pomeranian.  Whatever he was thought to be, he is no longer.  So now, here is how the conversations go:

"Hey, that's a great looking dog."

"Thanks."

"What kind is he?"

"Tibetan Wolfhound."

"Looks like a Pomeranian."

"That's cause you don't know what a Tibetan Wolfhound looks like."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Only if he thinks you're a wolf.....or rubber ball."

See? So much better than before with the sly laughter.  Oh, but if I happen to run into a attractive woman it sounds like this:

"Oh! He's so cute!"

"Want to touch it?"

"Can I?" 

(She bends down and Jack moves away)

"I have to hold him, he's kinda shy."

"What kind is he?"

"Tibetan Wolfhound?"

"Is he dangerous?"

"Terribly.  He killed a pack of wolves this morning before breakfast."

"He's so cute.  He doesn't look dangerous."

"Trust me, he would kill us all if he got the chance."

"You are terribly brave and strong to take care of such a beast."

"I don't like to brag, but, yes, I am both strong and brave.... and dynamite in the sack."

"I believe it.  Is it getting hotter?"

"Why yes."

"Should we go inside?  My place is right over there."

"Don't mind if I do."

(We go to her place and the story continues, but I will put the rest in a different blog)

Okay, on with the story.....

I rushed home the other day from my super-cool design internship so that I could get Jack and take him to the symphony.  I didn't know if he was into classical -he listens to rock and roll all day, and old country when we drink- but I figured it is always good to get exposure to different culture.  Anyway, I rushed home (a speedy thirty miles per hour since they tore up the Edens) and got Jack and we walked from my place on 16th to Millennium park.  The Grant Park Symphony puts on free shows at the amphitheatre once in a  while, and I wanted to go.  We were a little late, but it was Beethoven's seventh symphony and it sounded really good, so we grabbed a spot on the crowded lawn and settled in to listen. 

Wouldn't you know as soon as we get settled and Jack gets into the second movement with genuine interest (ears up, eyes bright, head bobbling) the fuzz came by to hassle us.

No dogs on the great lawn.

Fine.  I moved.

Just then, some Segway riding guy comes by and kicks us out.  

No dogs in the park: period.

I explain that there are no signs, that Jack is just a music fan like everybody else, and that I am actually a disabled veteran and Jack is my prosthetic brain -something like I lost my mind and all I got was this dog to think for me- but it was no use.  I took Jack for a walk.  I bet he would have been a lot less smug if he wasn't riding some of the coolest wheeled technology, sporting a badge, and especially if he knew what a Tibetan Wolfhound is capable of, but these things didn't occur to me until later. 

Instead, we walked up the lake for a ways and then I took my disappointed little sidekick to Dick's Last Resort.  The waiter there let me have Jack with me out on the patio and even gave him service.  The customers going in and out liked him, and I think the attention bolstered his mood.  The waiter -and I'm sorry I didn't get his name- was bored since nobody was on the patio, and he joined me in conspiring against the park staff.  Both of us agree: there is nothing intimidating about a cop on a segway, and it really just makes me want to push them over.  The guy -let's call him Ted- Well, Ted could juggle knives and he gave Jack some match books with nude women on them (I will post them when I get them scanned and figure out how to post photos).  

We walked back, and sat with a chick who was playing guitar.  She was from Michigan and needed money for some sort of fine.  She didn't go into detail, but it seemed like she needed to get home and the fine was serious.  I donated to the cause and played guitar with her and gave her a bag of peanuts.  I considered offering her a place to stay, but decided against it.  On we went.  

I played chess on the street, and won, but Jack was impatient.  I always wanted to do that, so it was nice to finally get around to it.  It's neat, that there are still enough people who play for someone to make any money on the street.

Overall, it was fun.  I think Jack had fun and I look forward to doing it again.  Now that I am in the process of signing on a home, we should have more time for this business.

I still have to get him on the back of my motorcycle, so stay tuned.

the weight of a pomeranian

A great July afternoon in Chicago: the sun is out, the breeze is nice, and the temperature is well above comfortable.  This is the heat which we will use to sustain ourselves through winter.  A collected and stored solar battery in the soul which can be used to thaw our hearts as the harsh northern wind howls through the streets of concrete and glass.  I will rest in this afternoon some time in January of February when I have decided that I should have moved to the delta of Mississippi and opened a junk yard or juke joint instead of this infernal design career.  It will keep me from leaving.  

I digress.  This is actually about the effects of a small dog on what was already an interesting life.  I need a place to live, and have been looking as much as I can (not much considering I work from ten to six and commute thirty minutes each way) and have found out two very important things:

1) I have never found my own apartment, so am il-equipped, and 2) Jack is changing the shape of my life.  

This came as a shock to me, but perhaps you will understand that not everyone wants Jack around.  I have been looking for a place to live and some people won't let me bring Jack.  I am sure it has nothing to do with his personality, but I still haven't told him because I don't want him getting upset.  Also: Jack kept me out of trouble the other night when I got a tad rowdy.   Let me explain....(ahem)

I had a rough day at work.  It's rare, but I made a mistake and my boss was disappointed with me (sound stupid? I would rather he shouted at me, but he just seems disappointed and tells me it's okay.  I hate it more than anything, and worse: he's an incredible guy) so I had a drink.  And then several more. 

I don't remember what happened next, but I found myself walking with Jack down Halstead St. where I ran into some people from school.  We joked around and then went to the closest dive bar (which has no name, just a beer sign for Old Style).  Jack seemed hesitant, but he stayed with me and kept me from getting stupid.  The bar let him in (probably to keep an eye on me) and everyone loved him.  I shot pool with some strangers and danced with some women I didn't know -and which Jack laughed at me for- and then I woke up.  All I got out of Jack was a disappointed look, and then I went off to an appointment and a day where my head would not stop pounding.  I did discover evidence that I had gotten quite involved in some festivities which I was not invited to, and used fireworks to gain entrance, but I have no other facts.  I did get the bike running, so now I just have to get Jack a way to ride.  

Next post: Jack turns out to not be a Pomeranian, and we get kicked out of Millennium Park, but end up drinking at a nice place downtown.

Right now, I gotta go see if I can find a place to live....

Oh, and Jack says Hi.

I.D.

Independence should be celebrated, and to me, nothing says independence like cars, beer, guns, fireworks, and a pomeranian.  I had to amend the list and add the last part, but it still works.

So, for the fourth my older brother brought the family all the way from Canada.  He has a wife and three kids.  Sam is American born, but his kids are Canadian and therefore have no idea what Independence Day is.  

Like Jack said, "As your lawyer, I recommend you drive fast and demonstrate your own brand of freedom."

Actually he just looked at me and gave me his happy but puzzled expression.  I took that to mean he agreed.  If I was wrong, he would surely have said something to me when we were buying $90 worth of fireworks in Indiana from a man with a pistol in his belt (belt being a loose term since he was wearing sweat pants).  

I had a great plan for an entrance so great the kids would have peed their pants:

I would ride in in my purple station wagon, radio blasting, dog barking, and shooting fireworks out of the window.  I would come in through the hedge so as to really take them by surprise.  

It would have been beautiful.  But, since my Dad had just gone into the hospital quite unexpectedly that afternoon, I felt as though a smoky barking purple streak of fun may have been seen as inappropriate.  I came in late, had a drink, and went to bed.

Dad turned out to be fine.  Bladder infection and some hospital time and everything went alright.

Jack, it turns out is quite an animal.  He made friends with everyone, rode the four-wheeler with me and my nephew, swam in a pond, and is unafraid of fireworks or gunfire.  He even managed to fight a little with my parents' puppy and not look like a pansy.

All in all, I think he had a good time.  He slept the whole way home alternating between my lap and his seat.  I could have used some help with the driving, but what can ya do?

How did I get here?

Let's be clear: were I to choose a pet, it would be a dog.  It would not be a Pomeranian.  I don't care how nice they are, it just does not fit.

Think about it.  Here I am, the last free American Man.  A tragic folk hero in the vein of Edward Abbey and Jack Kerouac and John Henry.  I drive an old, overpowered pickup that I built myself.  I drink straight whiskey, smoke cigars, hunt, fish, shoot guns, drink beer, and sleep outside without a tent.  Don't think of this as bragging, it's just the way things are.  To balance it all, I am loyal and helpful.... much like a dog without all the drool (though I have humped a few legs in my day).  

So, when my friend Alaina mentioned that someone would need to watch her dog, I volunteered.  I had to, it's what heroes (tragic or otherwise) do.  

I met Jack.  He's tall for a Pomeranian, and seems smart.  He has had some training, and understands three commands ("sit," "stay," and "gimmie a paw").  He is sweet and housebroken.  He is a chick-magnet.  

All in all, I figured it would be fun to have a little friend for a while.  A little reordering of my life, and it would be like a game.  

Man was I misguided.  

I have reordered my life quite a bit.  Jack won't let me oversleep.  He needs food and so on and I have to give it to him.   I take him with me everywhere I can.  I walk him twice a day.  He curls up in my lap at random, and likes to steer the car, though he is too short to reach the pedals.   

So, I guess he is fun.  What I didn't count on, and what is going to be a problem later, is that I really like him.  He's fun to have around.  

So I guess I can make peace with people instantly referring to him as "she" just because he's cute.  The ladies like him, and he isn't a bad companion.  We already went on a trip and we had fun.  

A little contradiction keeps things interesting.... right?

stand by

Stand by, I'm realigning this thing......