ch.11, v.1-7 (nadja)

Should thy forelimb tether thee with pain
And steal from thee thy good perambulations--
Alas, take from thee even the hunger of thy belly
And stop up the lappings of the thirst of thy tongue--


Then cast off this malignant tubercle from the trunk of thy body
And cavort across the fields of thy territory upon three legs sturdy and fine.



Be thou tripod and be thou rich of life.


Exegesis and commentary
As some of you already know, Nadja lost a leg to cancer (osteosarcoma) last October. Unfortunately, it's a very aggressive cancer and has probably already metastasized, so tho' we are hoping to have her with us through the winter, we know we can't expect much more than that.

But the key thing is how much happier she is since the amputation: all September, she had been in such awful pain that she barely walked at all and Karen even had to start force-feeding her things like boiled chicken and scrambled eggs. At that point, we didn't have a diagnosis that made sense (she has arthritis, but this seemed awfully extreme for arthritis), and we were beginning to despair that her quality of life could be restored at all.

Then Amy Johnson, a friend and our vet (JP Animal Clinic), referred us to an osteo surgeon at all Angell, and he immediately diagnosed it as said osteosarcoma. We thought the recommended amputation seemed awfully drastic for an eleven-year-old dog that had about six months to live anyway, but it turned out just right: she is enjoying her walks, naps, and food, and the four of us are able to go on walks together. After those excruciating weeks in September and October, having the opportunity to make her happy and comfortable again, if even just for a few months, is totally worth it.


The special harness Karen uses to carry her up and down stairs.
She also has a giant stroller (her carriage) that we can use when she runs out of stamina on a walk--
but her strength improved week by week through October and November.

ch.2, v.52-56

Yea, through millennia untold the noble ancestors of our genera
Met upon the fields of our territories
With backs arched in enmity and ivory weapons unsheathed,
But look now upon this triumph wrought in the heat of Helios--
The truce of the sunspot makes of canid and felid one pack.

ch.2, v.43-51 (fears)

The clangorousness of a thousand cataclysms does clangor upon the edge of our territory
And also assails with terrible vibrations the delicate tissues of the ossicles of my head.

Who are these clamoring hordes? Whence this host of machine-wielders,
Who press the earth beneath their frightful mechanisms?



The bedrock of the earth they crack asunder with the blows of awful hammers
And the bodies of trees they slice and sliver with the sharpness of their knives.



O my companion we must away from this cacophony that cracks and slivers upon my head.
Give me this humble corner for the hiding of my beleaguered hide.
Force not upon me the audition of this concert of destruction.



Exegesis and commentary
Actually, it was construction, on an old house across the street that has been renovated to become two or three condos. But the noise was pretty awful, at least for a few weeks, while they used modified scoops to break up the bedrock behind the house, but for Frida even those sounds that were less painful for us (random hammering and sawing, as well as the constant beeping of trucks as they backed up) were pure torture. Not only is she sensitive to those kinds of noises, but they can really trigger her anxiety. She let me know how much the noise was bothering her by resisting the move to the living room pretty dramatically each time I would leave; that had never been a problem before, and she always gets a special treat when I go (see "kong" in icon's left hand).


So the ongoing construction led me to try an experiment that was, briefly, a success: I allowed her to have access to the rest of the house during the day while I was gone. As some of you know, b/c of her anxiety Frida has had to be restricted everywhere I've lived to one or two carefully "dog-proofed" rooms. Otherwise, she would work out her stress on whatever interesting object came to hand (as it were) and eat herself sick.

I was thrilled when this worked. I could come home after eight hours away, and aside from a few tissues selected from a trash can, everything was fine. Amazing. Worlds away from the dog who ate parts of my clothes, chewed up pens, spilled olive oil all over the living room floor, destroyed a variety of Sarah Klein's tresors, etc. I thought we had entered into a new phase in Frida's life. She could choose a nice den to retreat to during the day, and the cat could enjoy socializing with her canine siblings.

But, apparently, after a few weeks, the charm wore off. A trash can knocked over here, a food container disemboweled there, and bit by bit she was getting more bold in her explorations again. So she's back to being confined to the living room, which she's not crazy about (she resists a bit), but at least the construction is done.

ch.2, v.16-42 (fears)

This obstacle you have set in my path, o my companion,
It is a great and awful tribulation.
It looms before me as insurmountable as the summit of Mt. Mansfield.
It gapes across my pathway as terrifying as the terrible abyss of solitariness.

For unto our dwelling place
You have brought this felis catus, my greatest enemy.
Into the sturdy walls of the den of our pack,
You have brought this fugitive from the reservoir of my nightmares.




Yea, the curly coated one greets the arrival of the demon with joyful prancing
As she will greet guests arrived at our door for a celebration.
Yea, for she sees in this mutant form a soft and running thing
With which to make play and entertainment between her nappings.

But her confidence is the confidence of ignorance.
It is a blindness as when the curls of her coat grow thick before her eyes.
She sees not the needles tenfold upon the sudden paws of this beast
Nor the slicing and dicing and shredding for which they are formed.

Neither does she see that jaw of this beast tho diminutive
When unsealed does reveal row upon row of ivory razors
Sharper even than the teeth of the mouths of puppies
And formed for the tormenting of canines.

Nay, neither do the humans see with unclouded eyes
The true form of the strangeness they have brought unto our den.
They perceive not the flickering lens set sideways that does track figments unseen by us,
Nor do they comprehend this repudiation of gravity that does shake the very foundation of our physical realm.

O my companion, you do set in my path a great and awful challenge.
Behold how I do meet it with fortitude and determination
And sometimes a little bit of growling and whimpering.

ch. 10, v.31-43 (melting of the snows)

Tremble before the voice of dog; this is wisdom of your kind.
Retreat from this field before her swift and thundrous charge
Like ripples fleeing a boulder fallen into a stream.
Scatter before the bark of her resonant chest
As scatter the desiccated leaves of autumn before the gales of spring.



Yea, make the limbs of the trees your haven,
There to chatter the chatterings of your mouth at the ears of dog,
To cast the glance of your eye down upon her fearsome head,
And also the stray nuts of your storehouse.

But grow you not complacent in your altitude
For the eye of dog is upon you
Even as you travel the woody highway of the timber.
Her vigilance is ever vigilant.


Yes, I'm using the squeaky Uncle Matty voice here.
It even makes my skin crawl.

ch. 10, v.21-30 (melting of the snows)

In the fields made lush by the abundant waters of this season
Our companions do look upon us and ask together,
"Why does my dog eat of the soil and also of the turf?
What meaning does she ingest with the blade of grass,
What benefits her this meal made of dirt?"






Ask they not of the clear sky what it gains from the floating of the clouds?
Or of the adolescent male what is the benefit of the cool breeze upon his buttocks
That the seat of his trousers does not cover?

The turf and soil are good
And thus we do eat of them.

ch. 10, v.1-20 (melting of the snows)

*warning: some content of this posting may not be appropriate for viewers over 7 years of age.



You see, my companion, how the prescient hand of March
Begins now to draw back the cover of snow and reveals once more
To the sight of your eye and the scent of my muzzle the bed of the earth.




The fruits and limbs fallen with autumn's blow become a nursery
To the generation now germinating beyond our perception.

But beware, my companion, the treachery of this mosaic,
For it is also a subtle camouflage that does play a trick upon your eye.
Place with care each step of your foot as you make the path to collect my deposits,
For hidden here are cryptic and innumerable snares.




Nay, not all puppies of humans track with such devotion the leavings of their canines.
These neighbors do cast aside their eyes and see not that which they know.
They say unto themselves, "I shall not bow down to the labor of this retrieval,
Nor burden my hand with the transformations of kibble and biscuits,
For shall not the precipitations of the sky like sorcery make these remnants
Vanish unto nothingness?"




So they do tell themselves a tale of foolishness,
And make wishes against the legislation of physics.
Thus your path you must choose with caution, my companion,
For now the relics of many a canine digestive tract
Do threaten the tread of your deeply molded shoe.




Exegesis and commentary
My apologies to those of you with delicate sensibilities. Sadly, Frida's chastising verses address a too prevalent winter problem that spring makes apparent.

So, not only is it a hassle that, once winter comes, even more dog walkers seem to think it's okay not to pick up after their dogs, but then in the spring, when all of these cryogenicly preserved creations become evident, those of us who will cross muddy fields to pick up after our canine friends are all too likely to step in a poopmine. It is especially challenging in the early spring, when rotting leaves, sticks, mud, pine cones, etc., can be very hard to distinguish from snow-pickled turds.





Looks like a dropping:


But, on closer inspection, we discover decaying bark:


And who can blame the people who like to use the parks and don't have dogs for wishing all the dog walkers would go away? Really, those of you (and you know who you are) who pretend you don't see that your dog is pooping or want to believe that the rain or snow will just make it vanish (poof!), stop kidding yourselves and just pick the turds up. You're just making it that much harder to have a dog-friendly neighborhood.