Angels - a Doggie Photo Album

My Golden Retrievers

My dogs are really Angels.
Recently, a friend called me in grief. Her Labrador, Jake, is ill with terminal cancer. He is nearing the end. It struck such a cord with me.

Why, I wonder, do people have to outlive their dogs?
Amidst the sadness, however, it is the joy they bring to our lives that we must celebrate to honor their spirits. There is nothing like a dog.

Marcus and Eliza, 1983

MARCUS
Marcus was my first Golden Retriever. This is Marcus with my daughter Eliza when she was a wee one, probably around a year old. He was remarkable. A gentleman, Marcus would have been Topper if he were a man; a top hat, a cane, spats, bow tie, tails - a martini and a cigar to complete the picture. That was Marcus. He was with us from 1981 to 1993. . .  we got him in Lake Tahoe, during the winter. Our neighbors had a Samoyed; Snowball. Snowball taught him the ropes - how to dig a hole into the snow for warmth, how to pee outside . . . As the snow melted, he was frantic, looking for a patch to pee. He finally figured it out, but it was cute.

My stepson, Darin, Bill and Baby Marcus, ca. 1981

We moved from Lake Tahoe to Hawaii and he did four months in the Joint (quarantine). He owned Kailua Beach. We ran every morning and he knew everyone. He was beautiful.
We returned to the mainland, Malibu, and shortly after that my husband left me for a two-year separation. It was a horrible time. I had been married only five years, with a small child. I felt like a failure. I was too young and too dysfunctional to know a better way to handle my situation. I almost fell apart - but I couldn't. I had to take care of Eliza . . .

So - I ran every day with Marcus, on the trails or on the beach. He guided me to sanity. Eventually my husband and I actually patched it up and stayed married. But it was Marcus who was my rock.

One day, he couldn't walk. His front legs were paralyzed. He had a tumor on his spine that had been undetected. There was nothing they could do.

When he passed away, I felt like the world had ended.

I searched very hard for my next pups. I knew what I wanted. I read and talked to breeders and show-dog owners. I studied everything I could get my hands on. I never wanted to be without a dog again, specifically, a Golden Retriever. So I got two, and we had puppies; it was joy, pure joy.

CHICO

Chico the Man

Chico and the ball

Chico and his baby girl, Ginger

Chico was a gentle giant. He weighed 115 pounds and moved like a tank. He never, ever growled in his life except in play with JoJo and his puppies. He was the most gentle dog that ever lived. His head was as big as a house, with kind eyes and a polka dot black nose. He smiled all the time. His soft golden fur was my halo. His gentle head would tap me on the back of my calf as I worked about the house or at my desk to let me know he was watching over me. He loved stinky stuff and cat poop, dog parks and ladies. My panties were never safe. He was horrible when JoJo was in heat, directed by an other-worldly instinct that brought out the beast in him. Chico would go crazy. He would prowl around looking for a way to get to her. He would run back and forth across the yard, try to take the door down, crawl through a window, smash his way in - anything. He would jump in the pool to cool off and go traipsing about all wet, dripping around the doors and howling.
He was all man, but a gentle man. He was the man I wished I had in my life. If he had been human I imagine he would be the guy who would have loved football and golf, beer and women. He was my man.

JoJo was so beautiful; she was a Saint.

JoJo jumping in after a ball

The way I will always remember JoJo and Chico

JOJO
JoJo was born on my birthday. She was simply a saint. "Saint" JoJo resurrected my husband when he came home after months and months in the hospital with a brain aneurysm. He had been in a coma for a long time, and partially paralyzed on one side. He was in rehab for months to relearn everything, from feeding himself to speech. He lost all of his hand and eye coordination. JoJo forced him to throw a ball until it hurt, made him walk her, attached herself to his thigh and never left his side. She adopted him as his nurse. She made him her purpose. She knew and understood that he was disabled, and when she went through dog training class with him, she made him look good. She was a star; she passed all her show trials with flying colors, except one -

Bill and I watched as the handler took her through her paces. But when she was recalled from a sit-stay, she ran out of the ring to Bill. Same on the down-stay. That night, Bill had a relapse; his eyes stopped tracking. Abnormal activity in his brain showed another aneurysm was active. He was admitted to UCLA again. She knew. She wanted him to know.

JoJo at attention over a ball

She had five litters, each one perfect. She was an awesome mother. In between births she jumped into the pool. She would throw her own ball in - just so she could retrieve it if she couldn't get someone to do it for her.

She was the most beautiful dog in the world to me.

Puppy pile!

Puppy stand-off

JoJo weaning and her puppies

JoJo with her litter

Puppies

I have often been asked if it was difficult to give up puppies to their new families. Never. I can't think of a more joyful thing.

I know that these dogs ring the same joy to their new home that they have brought me. I have never been disappointed. Everyone who ever had a puppy has been delighted. Their lives have been immeasurably enriched, changed for the better. Each puppy has its own doggy-destiny, to be that dog, in that family, and to give that family love. It is the cycle of life and love repeating itself. I had it, and I was passing it on to a new family, who would gain and give love anew.

I learned by my second shot at it that puppies can begin to learn in the fourth week; by then, I began with the basics.

By the time they went to their new homes, they were socialized and prepared for the fundamentals. I mean, by eight weeks old,  in my puppy classes, we were doing "sit," "down" and some "stay" and "come." Using the parents (Jojo and Chico)  as a resource, the pups would do what mom and dad did. In several cases, for various reasons, some puppies stayed with us longer than the eight weeks; one for four months, one for six, and so on. By the time they went to their new families, they were pretty well trained.

Latte and JoJo

I was in heaven. I loved every minute of puppy-breath.
I became dog-lady. All the kids in the 'hood hung out at my house.
My puppies had a ball.

Chico, Latte and JoJo

LATTE

I finally kept one little girl from the last litter JoJo and Chico had. Latte is the pup on the left, looking boldly, right at the camera. She has such a face! She is the perfect combination of mom and dad, but all her own. She is calm and intelligent, sweet and demonstrative. She loves everyone, leans against people she meets on the street, pushes her way into the hearts of strangers who are in distress. She is a healer; she is intuitive.

Like Chico, she has a blocky head, a short stop (nose) and wide-set eyes. Like her mom, she is full-coated with a vanilla undercoat. She is bulky and gentle, sweet and smart. She has the most amazing way of communicating...

JoJo purred. She taught all of her puppies to purr. When they are happy, they emit a little friendly growl. But in recent years, Latte has taken it a step or two further.

When she is really happy, really content, safe and secure - she talks. I swear. She makes noises in her throat that I am sure sound the same to her as human speech. She intones and converses. I speak, she answers. She even asks questions and makes statements. She always talks when we get in bed. She starts the minute I get under the covers. She is always there first, right where I am going to get in. I have to lift her up to get under her and then, her head rests on my shoulder. She grunts like a bagpipe when I lift her up and then she starts the talking. I imagine she asking me how the day went, telling me she loves me and I know, without a doubt, she is reiterating that bedtime is the best time of the day, when Latte, Chai and I are all together and everything is good.

After Latte was born, my husband and I moved around a bit until he moved to Hawaii. It was Latte, Chico and JoJo and our Australian Shepherd Pesky. I had four dogs and one cat, Whitey. We rented a tiny house in Thousand Oaks. It was a difficult time, but the house was full of love.

JoJo, Chico, Latte and Pesky in the background -
 he always took the back seat.

Latte at 7 months

My dogs motivated me each day, made me walk them, made me take them to the dog park every day. I made friends. I got along and found a path. They guided me. 

In 2004, my daughter graduated from USC. She left right after graduation. I had never felt so alone. Separated from my husband, my daughter gone, thank GOD I had the dogs. 

Latte

On the day after she left, I took Chico with me to do errands. We went to the dog park and he sniffed and peed. We had lunch with a friend. Then I came home and he jumped out of the car. A few minutes later I was feeding the dogs - and he wouldn't eat. 

I knew right away that he was really sick. I lifted him into the car and ran to the emergency vet. 

He died that night. He had a myocardial tumor on his heart that bled out. I was devastated. 

It was so sad. I am still sad about it. 

I fell totally in love

CHAI
A few months later, Eliza handed me a present. It was all wrapped in blue tissue in a blue bag. I opened it up and there was a photo album in it. It was a baby album. I freaked out. It appeared she was trying to tell me something . . .

But it wasn't a baby human; it was Chai, my baby boy. Chai, my baby boy. . . 

Visiting Chai at his breeder

I visited him several times at his breeder, Bob Rados in San Pedro. He was the most adorable little fella ever! I took him two days shy of his eight week. He came to my house a little cutie-boy with a little case of Coxidia when he came home, a common parasite puppies pick up. It made it very hard to crate train him. He couldn't hold it until morning.
So, we took a page from some of the puppy-owners I had. We put him on the bed with me. That way, he would wake me up every time he needed to go. And he did.

What a little cutie. 

To this day, Chai sleeps on my pillow. As a little guy he slept as close to me as he could. He still does, but he weighs 95 lbs. Chai follows my every move. He is a woosy little Momma's boy, and I love him for it. He makes himself as tiny as he can to get as close to me as he can wherever I am. He has a long nose and a long, slender body, the opposite of Latte. He has golden fur and it is straight as can be. He has a huge ruff - a mane - around his handsome face. One day we were walking down the street and a little boy in a stroller pointed at him. "Look mommy! A lion!" That is my boy. Chai is afraid of chihuahuas and small dogs that bark. He loves everyone and every dog, even though they don't love him. But he tries anyhow, and usually, he wins everyone over.

Chai and Latte in my house in Thousand Oaks

Chai sleeps on my pillow at night

When Chai was little, I had a small park across the street from my house. I would take him late at night to play on the climbing structure. He loved to climb and slide down the slide. It was so cute.
I never imagined he would develop a life-long tree-climbing habit, which he has. He climbs trees. They just have to have low-hanging branches and be strong enough to hold him.

Eventually, we all moved over to Hawaii to join my husband and daughter. Every day we went swimming. I shaved the dogs so we didn't have a hassle with the sand and the heat and the long hair. It was so much fun. JoJo was reunited with my husband. She became his mistress once again, and the two of them grew old together. 

Latte, JoJo and Chai in Hawaii

Although Bill was not really "old," his illness made him weak and vulnerable. He suffered from a lot of illnesses. His life was difficult, but he had a remarkable attitude. He never felt sorry for himself. 

Latte and Chai on my bed

(L-R) MyKey (Front), Latte, Chai and Golda at Peets in Brentwood

But our marriage didn't survive and I moved back to the Mainland with Latte and Chai. It kills me that I didn't bring JoJo with me, but she seemed to want to be with Bill. He certainly felt she should stay with him.

I was in no position to argue, being absolutely broke, so I took my two with me and here we are.

JoJo passed away two years ago in April. She was 13. I think she knew that Bill was terminally ill. He died last January. She had done her job well.

TODAY
I live in Brentwood, a suburb of Los Angeles, California. We share a condo with my 90-year-old mom. Latte is no longer a pup. She is slowing down. But she is a happy old girl, and she lives a good doggie life with me. I walk my dogs four times a day, at least, and over the last five years I have come to know my neighborhood very well. We run into our neighbors every time we walk.

In the morning I wake up with some really happy dogs, anxious to get a bite to eat and go for a walk. And its not just any walk - its a walk to Peets, the coffee place on the corner.

Peets means other dogs, like MyKey and Golda (above), or Henry and Mollie. It means treats and pets from all the neighborhood dog lovers and kids. Its incredibly important to my dogs! On days when I have to run early I know they feel ripped off. But what can I do? They are, after all, dogs.

Through this constan motion, this walking every day, I have learned so much. Small dogs cause problems, most of the time, especially when they are on retractable leashes. Some people hate dogs. Everyone has entitlement issues and most people who hate dogs will try to make other people accomodate them through angry intimidation. Nut-cases exist everywhere.

One night, at 1AM, I was walking my dogs off leash and Chai started sniffing in the flowerbed in front of an apartment building. A woman was standing in the entry of the building eating something. She began to freak out, literally, screaming at me at the top of her lungs. "Get the F-g dog out of here! He's killing the flowers! I'm calling the police! Put him on a leash!" Lights came on throughout the building. I didn't say anything, I just gathered my pups and ran. I don't think she was sober. . .

But there are nice people too. And there are great dog owners. I have come to love my neighbors so much. I often know the dogs before the people. One of the most important lessons I have learned is that kindness matters. Tolerance, patience and love win. My dogs give so much love - and it never fails that they get so much in return. Why can't humans be the same?

Latte and Chai posing at the Laurel Canyon Dog Park.

Newt's a Bad, Bad Boy; So What?

He's certainly not pretty, but he
could change history - again.

In the age of spin, heralded by Bill Clinton and James Carville, Newt Gingrich defies the Mainstream Media.

James Carville - "Its the economy, Stupid!"

I am not thrilled with any of the candidates running for president. But at the South Carolina debate on Friday Newt shamed the moderator for asking "the Question." In fact, who really cares what he did with his ex-wife? Do we? Really?

President Bill Clinton

For me, its all about jobs. How do we get the economy rolling again? How do we overcome the uncertainty that has business clutching their balls and waiting for the next shoe to drop? And what about the people who have let go of all their help, cancelled their dental appointments, put off that elective surgery, switched to public schools and put off buying a new car or a fridge until things get better?

Its real. VERY real.
And Newt is real.

I don't like Newt very much. I think he is a despicable mess. But I admire his brevity of experience, the weight of his intelligence, his historical knowledge, his ability to pull himself out of obscurity and his tenacity for getting the impossible accomplished. Who would have thought, three months ago, that his campaign could have legs? It does, like a centipede.

President Barack Obama

Newt can win this thing and throw that scarecrow out of the WH. POTUS has about as much experience dealing with the raw real of Newt as he does holding down a job or paying an employee. Or balancing a budget, for that matter.

Explain how he is going to make a case for Keystone being rejected? How is he going to defend Solyndra? How are we going to look this country in the eye and re-elect that monster?

I couldn't care less about angry black women or Baine Capital. I want to be able to pay my bills without fear. I can't right now. And as far ahead as I can see there is no momentum for change in the work force, in business and in the economy.

The problem with Mitt is that he is just as far removed from the average guy as Obama. When Newt starts to bring up his record, instead of an appropriate and normal response on his face, the man SMIRKS! Its so  odd!

This is Romney's expression when Newt is taking
him down on health care! INNAPROPRIATE!

As for Newt, he acts like the rest of us. He has been that outcast, that misunderstood guy. He has imperfect written all over him. We already KNOW he is bad. He knows it, we know it, so who cares? We also know that he has a plan! A real plan, one that is based on decades of Washington experience, where he can say that the "single-payer" was wrong, "I made a mistake." I like that. He really has learned on the job, and these other guys - well, they're lightweight.

Can Obama debate Newt? He definitely needs his TelePrompTer.


Let's see what will happen in the upcoming primaries. It could be interesting.

UPDATE:
Newt is a horrible mess. His own ego squished him like a fly. Sometimes you're the bug, sometimes you're the windshield...

Taxing Medical Marijuana

Are we surprised that Los Angeles has the highest concentration of medical marijauna shops in the nation?

It hit me when I met a couple who had moved here from Sweden. Pot is cheaper here, and better, they said. They pulled out their cards. "We came on student visas," said one. Really?

Now, with Measure M in place, the City requires dispensaries to pay a 5% business tax on gross receipts. With that kind of income, what the hell are they thinking when they are talking about a ban on pot shops?

Unless someone can come up with another plan to rake in that kind of money, that would be plain stupid. Tax marijauna shops. Leave the rest of us alone.

Prohibitive taxing on items perceived to be "bad" or "luxury" items is a favorite of legislators. Look at the tax on cigarettes and gasoline. It works. We pay. Why not pot shops?

The LA Times reports that the official number of pot shops is at 372. They spoke with assistant district attorney Asha Greenberg, who believes the number to be closer to 500. There have been several vain attempts to pin down these dispensaries, but with such a popular product selling itself, its like trying to hold on to light.

LA Times map of dispensaries

At the end of 2009, the LA Weekly made an exhaustive count of the shops operating in Los Angeles. Their count was 545. The numbers wax and wane with public opinion and new regulations.

Even illegal pot shops have to pay these taxes. That sounds like a win-win for me! 

A Rebuttal to The Concept of FREE, by Chris Anderson

Chris Anderson, Editor of Wired
(James Duncan Davidson, Flickr)

Chris Anderson is the celebrated author of two books and the editor-in-chief of Wired magazine. In his book, Free: the Future of a Radical Price, suggests a new paradigm for business: “FREE.” He believes that, in his terms,  "free" will always “win.” His vision is a world where all information is free.

While that is slightly thrilling ultimately, we all know, it is impossible. Money makes the world go 'round. Someone has to pay the bills, after all - and there are many ways that it can play out, conventional and otherwise.

Take for example the book, Free, which retails for $29.99. Content is only as free as it can be. We must also pay for the method of delivery, be it paper, electronic or DVD. 

In his paradigm, Anderson believes that “information wants to be free.” That adage especially applies to the world of journalism in the digital age, he says, and there are many examples that would seem to bear him out.

Truly the citizen journalist has made his debut and we all felt the impact. Anyone can blog or pontificate on any subject from any point of view. Sharp writers will understand the fundamentals of SEO. They may understand social media  and viral marketing. It may be possible that they are re-tweeted, shared on Facebook and found in StumbledUpon.

We don’t have to look for news. It assaults us – everywhere. It’s in buses and elevators, in our email and on our homepage. We will never go back to waiting for the evening news. That would be as archaic as waiting for the evening paper.

But there is an old adage that I rely on for reality checks – “You get what you pay for.” Another old saying rapidly follows: “There are no free lunches.”

Socialnomics, a film on the power of Social Media

#OWS - 1% Defined

UPDATE (4:15 pm, 11/17/11, PDT): On the 2-month anniversary of the Occupy Wall Street movement, protesters in New York City staged an allegedly peaceful march. It continues throughout the day with police in riot gear assisting occupiers to move out of Zuccotti Park; 400 arrests were made. Similar activity in Occupied Areas across the country are resulting in arrests and police activity throughout the country.

OWS protestors get invited to leave, November 17, 2011

At home, in Los Angeles, 23 Occupiers were arrested following a march that blocked traffic. The first arrest was 82-year-old Bertha Jordan, a union member.

One participant tweeted the following (watch the Colbert Report below):

@FrancisHerreroFrancis Herrero

@Hope_ful1980 @OccupyLA - I think it would be funny if we all claim to be #OLA 's leader. Singular.

1% DEFINED

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Colbert Super PAC - Stephen Colbert Occupies Occupy Wall Street Pt. 1
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog Video Archive

Occupy Wall Street (OWS) sharpens class rhetoric and solidifies the us-against-them argument in the image of the “99%.” Most of us understand intuitively who that 1% is – like when Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart described pornography: "I know it when I see it."

Nancy Pelosi has a chat with
Christiane Amanpour about OWS (ABC)

Their rhetoric is rich with philosophy and conclusions that are supported by mind-numbing nit picking. Somehow, using the art of sound byte, the occupiers have forced us to deny our own instincts about sanitation. People around the occupation politely avoid discussions that may appear politically incorrect. Yet, after two months with limited facilities and in close quarters there are reports of scabies and ringworm at various sites throughout the country. Good thing they are practicing nit picking!

But most of us agree that there is a huge discrepancy between the 1% and the rest of us. The deck is stacked and the house always wins. They own the cards, after all. The rest of us are out here hoping to make enough to pay for the trip. We get that. But what is not clear, especially in the wake of celebrity support of OWS – is the definition of who the 1% really is.

Strictly speaking, we can separate them by either their gross income or net worth.

Gross income, based on the figures available from the IRS in the latest year (2009), puts the top income earners at $343, 927 as among the top 1%, according to Kiplinger. The top 1% net worth is $9 million. 

Clearly, income is not the means testing. In fact, in a burst of hypocrisy, the movement has embraced its own "1%-ers" with complete abandon, suspending reality for the sake of a photo-op.

Georgia state Sen. Vincent Fort (D) at Occupy Atlanta,
proclaims,"This is the best day of my life!"(@mrwatkins)

Those income/worth figures would have to preclude the presence and support of politicians, actors and other glitterati supporting these events.

But noting the benign hypocrisy inherent in getting the public to focus on anything for more than a sound byte, it seems a lot of the 1%-ers aren’t 1%-ers anymore if they support the 99%.

Rather than a black-and-white definition, the only definition is liquid and capricious. As long as they can sleep in public spaces, have their yoga classes and meditation, set up their legal tables and libraries and have entertainment described as the General Assembly and attended by the erstwhile celebrity supporter, they don’t really seem to care about hypocrisy.

CEOs of large corporations have been targeted as the “1%.” Truth is that they make up only a fraction of the whole segment. Other 1%-ers include: union leaders, entertainment people, sports figures, CEOs of non-profits, politicians, special interest PACs, trust-funders and a few others.

The OWS movement has been thoroughly hijacked by everyone left of center who has ever had a bowel movement.  Whatever the original intention, they have suppressed any expression by malcontents from the OTHER side of center from ever happening in their sacred arenas.

OWS is a soapbox for every actor, union, Democratic politician or “progressive” special interest group on the planet.

Intuitively, anyone can understand Michael Moore ($50 million), Alec Baldwin ($65 million) and Susan Sarandon ($50 million). Could we find a better fit?

Alec Baldwin at Zuccotti Park (@firedogriver) Nov. 10, 2011

As the OWS are being swept out of public squares across the country, Democrats cry out in protest.  

It is difficult to gauge the net worth of any lawmaker because of their reporting rules. Some of the most supportive members are also among the wealthiest. Take for example Nancy Pelosi, whose worth is estimated to be between $58,436, 537 and $124,229,990. “I support the message to the Establishment,” she told ABC News, in typical ‘60’s lingo. She will return to California in her own jet, laughing all the way.

Who are the 1%? Whoever OWS says they are. It has nothing to do with facts. It’s a feeling. 

Tell me how you feel about it!

LA Budget Cuts Endanger Coral Trees and Residents in Brentwood

Coral trees on San Vicente median (Vicki Talbot)

LA City budget cuts for the famous coral trees on San Vicente Boulevard endanger their fragile health and can be very dangerous, says Brentwood Community Council president Nancy Freedman.

The trees are a Cultural Heritage Monument of the City of Los Angeles.  Joggers and pedestrians enjoy a grassy interlude in the busy urban landscape. But, without maintenance, their shallow root system cannot support the heavy, full green canopies. The trees have to be trimmed annually. And they are susceptible to overwatering, a condition that has toppled many trees in rainy years past.

"A limb could break on your head," said Freedman. "Last rain, everybody had their fingers crossed."

So local community members have mobilized a campaign to permanently take care of the precious trees.

Armed Robbery at a 7-11 in Brentwood?

The Brentwood 7-11 on Wilshire near Federal (Vicki Talbot)

Brentwood is a sleepy little LA burg that doesn't know from crime; just the occasional car thefts and small-time burglars looking for computers for drug money, a few white collar criminals and some neighborly feuds, divorces and custody battles. So the morning of October 6 was a wake up call.

What Happened?

First of all, yes, there is a 7-11 in Brentwood. Its located at 11656 Wilshire Boulevard, just west of Federal.

Thursday, October 6, at 5 a.m., two suspects entered the 7-11 store wearing hoodies, baseball caps, white plastic painter's suits and painter's masks. 

In the store's security video we see the first suspect enter the store. He runs up to the manager in the aisle, where he is training a new employee. The robber jabs the poor guy in the back of the neck with a handgun and forces him to the floor. Then he drags the guy across the floor to the cash registers and the safe, behind the counter. The suspect is in such a hurry that he doesn't see his friend enter the store. Like a scene out of the Keystone Cops, he bumps into him as the accomplice enters the aisle. They almost blew it right there.

The second guy grabs the employee, and forces him to the ground. "Stay on the ground," he yells. The employee lies still, face down on the floor, but the guy keeps yelling, "Stay on the f-ing ground." Then, he runs up to the counter and retrieves the firearm from the first guy and runs back down the aisle with the gun. That is simply ODD.