Only the Shadow Knows

Enzo had been restless last night and hadn’t touched his vittles. Only hours earlier, he had been on a run with me where he had performed admirably with his legs and predictably with his nose.

But he woke before the sun this morning. I could hear his tail tapping against the wall of his crate. After I opened the latch, he ambled towards his food bowl and found the space empty, devoid of any sustenance, just a green post it note reminding me and others not to feed him after midnight. He licked at the towel that usually caught crumbs from his food and the strips of banana peel when my husband feels benevolent enough to feed him part of a banana.

He seemed lost, roamed aimlessly and listlessly through the house, displaying none of the tendencies for which he had earned the name Enzo, after Enzo Ferrari, of the famous race car family. When it came time to walk outside and watch Davis get on the bus, Enzo sat on the driveway, head heavily hanging down. After the boys got on the bus, he crept into my arms then I lifted him into the car where his crate awaited him. He crawled in, and went to sleep during the seven minute drive to the vet office. Enzo was getting neutered today.

The building was eerily quiet, an odor of sterility and cat litter permeated the office. Enzo had the first appointment of the day. Betsy immediately scooped Enzo in her arms while I signed the obligatory paperwork at the front desk. Finally, I checked the box “no” to having an EKG performed, a test that would detect any other abnormalities with Enzo’s heart. As a newborn, he had been diagnosed with slight heart murmur on his left side.

When I had first singled Enzo out from a picture of four males, age 4 weeks, he was already developing a beauty mark, a patch of reddish hair, against the backdrop of white fur, on his left cheek. I took that mark of imperfection as a sign. I did not want the perfect dog. I wanted one who was different. But it did come as a surprise when the breeder called to inform us at Enzo’s 6 week checkup, the vet had detected a murmur. The breeder offered us a different puppy as an option. But Enzo picked us. I wasn’t going to spurn his decision. Besides, as Enzo grew, he took up a larger place in our family and on the floor.

Three years ago, when I had blended my family of one son, with Mark’s family of three teenage girls, a dog had been high on the list in the girls’ demands for blending successfully. That and their own rooms. Their mother had died three years prior. Their old dog, Gipper, has passed away the previous Christmas. The girls were looking for something to tie their life back together.

Numerous arguments ensued between Mark and me over the topic of a new dog. If the girls knew now, they would be horrified to know that these fights threatened the beginnings of our marriage. The fights went something like this. I would be standing in the same room with the girls and Mark. One of them would mention getting a dog. And Mark would casually laugh it off. Later, when we were alone, I would ask, “Why can’t you tell them we are not getting a dog?”

My demand to simply tell the girls the truth was not unreasonable. But Mark had other ideas - that they just needed to say those things and to let the issue pass. The topic finally died but not without tears shed over what was a clear lack of respect for my voice in the marriage. At the time, I did not want a dog and was no more willing to take one on the midst of our jumbled year, than I would have said, “Let’s adopt,” because I had always wanted a brother for Davis.

Three years later, I lost the argument for good. But I prevailed in choosing the time and place. I picked the dog from the litter and bestowed the name Enzo upon him.

I dropped him off at the vet this morning with tears welled up in my eyes, as I recalled the past four months with Enzo. His sweet freckled face is the last I see before turning in at night. He has brought calm to the household. He is often the focus of our family’s entertainment. My niece Sophia, who lost her cat as a pet because her mother has an arm’s length full of traffic and legal charges against her, took to Enzo, wanting to walk him every day of her visit. The two were inseparable, appeared to be the same size and their pleading brown eyes went a long ways towards each of them having their way with me.

Enzo has given Cheryl, our oldest, a sophomore in college, more reason to come home and spend time with us. For the middle two girls, he has brought company and an excuse to unplug and sit outside or go for a walk. And for Davis, Enzo has brought a companionship that can mainly be attributed to their mutual attraction to sweat and dirt. They play together, climb over each other, and watch Sponge Bob and Scooby Doo. In some sense, Enzo has taken the place of the brother Davis never got. And Mark has welcomed him with the same gentleness he welcomed Davis.

But I have been the biggest beneficiary. Per my productive training with him, Enzo is my shadow. He accompanies me as I move about the house on laundry/cleaning days. He never tires of following me up and down steps, sometimes two at a time. He nudges his backside until it is up against my bare feet, a trait which I will love more in winter. I am learning so much from this creature. How to be faithful to those in your home. How to bask in the sun on the warm patio tiles. And how to be ebullient in the midst of anger and open to what life presents.

My office has felt empty without him today. My toes have been cold, and the sun has remained hidden behind the clouds, which is just as well, since my shadow is not here at my feet.

2009-08-31 Without My Shadow

Enzo had been restless last night and hadn’t touched his vittles. Only hours earlier, he had been on a run with me where he had performed admirably with his legs and predictably with his nose.

But he woke before the sun this morning. I could hear his tail tapping against the wall of his crate. After I opened the latch, he ambled towards his food bowl and found the space empty, devoid of any sustenance, just a green post it note reminding me and others not to feed him after midnight. He licked at the towel that usually caught crumbs from his food and the strips of banana peel when my husband feels benevolent enough to feed him part of a banana.

He seemed lost, roamed aimlessly and listlessly through the house, displaying none of the tendencies for which he had earned the name Enzo, after Enzo Ferrari, of the famous race car family. When it came time to walk outside and watch Davis get on the bus, Enzo sat on the driveway, head heavily hanging down. After the boys got on the bus, he crept into my arms then I lifted him into the car where his crate awaited him. He crawled in, and went to sleep during the seven minute drive to the vet office. Enzo was getting neutered today.

The building was eerily quiet, an odor of sterility and cat litter permeated the office. Enzo had the first appointment of the day. Betsy immediately scooped Enzo in her arms while I signed the obligatory paperwork at the front desk. Finally, I checked the box “no” to having an EKG performed, a test that would detect any other abnormalities with Enzo’s heart. As a newborn, he had been diagnosed with slight heart murmur on his left side.

When I had first singled Enzo out from a picture of four males, age 4 weeks, he was already developing a beauty mark, a patch of reddish hair, against the backdrop of white fur, on his left cheek. I took that mark of imperfection as a sign. I did not want the perfect dog. I wanted one who was different. But it did come as a surprise when the breeder called to inform us at Enzo’s 6 week checkup, the vet had detected a murmur. The breeder offered us a different puppy as an option. But Enzo picked us. I wasn’t going to spurn his decision. Besides, as Enzo grew, he took up a larger place in our family and on the floor.

Three years ago, when I had blended my family of one son, with Mark’s family of three teenage girls, a dog had been high on the list in the girls’ demands for blending successfully. That and their own rooms. Their mother had died three years prior. Their old dog, Gipper, has passed away the previous Christmas. The girls were looking for something to tie their life back together.

Numerous arguments ensued between Mark and me over the topic of a new dog. If the girls knew now, they would be horrified to know that these fights threatened the beginnings of our marriage. The fights went something like this. I would be standing in the same room with the girls and Mark. One of them would mention getting a dog. And Mark would casually laugh it off. Later, when we were alone, I would ask, “Why can’t you tell them we are not getting a dog?”

My demand to simply tell the girls the truth was not unreasonable. But Mark had other ideas - that they just needed to say those things and to let the issue pass. The topic finally died but not without tears shed over what was a clear lack of respect for my voice in the marriage. At the time, I did not want a dog and was no more willing to take one on the midst of our jumbled year, than I would have said, “Let’s adopt,” because I had always wanted a brother for Davis.

Three years later, I lost the argument for good. But I prevailed in choosing the time and place. I picked the dog from the litter and bestowed the name Enzo upon him.

I dropped him off at the vet this morning with tears welled up in my eyes, as I recalled the past four months with Enzo. His sweet freckled face is the last I see before turning in at night. He has brought calm to the household. He is often the focus of our family’s entertainment. My niece Sophia, who lost her cat as a pet because her mother has an arm’s length full of traffic and legal charges against her, took to Enzo, wanting to walk him every day of her visit. The two were inseparable, appeared to be the same size and their pleading brown eyes went a long ways towards each of them having their way with me.

Enzo has given Cheryl, our oldest, a sophomore in college, more reason to come home and spend time with us. For the middle two girls, he has brought company and an excuse to unplug and sit outside or go for a walk. And for Davis, Enzo has brought a companionship that can mainly be attributed to their mutual attraction to sweat and dirt. They play together, climb over each other, and watch Sponge Bob and Scooby Doo. In some sense, Enzo has taken the place of the brother Davis never got. And Mark has welcomed him with the same gentleness he welcomed Davis.

But I have been the biggest beneficiary. Per my productive training with him, Enzo is my shadow. He accompanies me as I move about the house on laundry/cleaning days. He never tires of following me up and down steps, sometimes two at a time. He nudges his backside until it is up against my bare feet, a trait which I will love more in winter. I am learning so much from this creature. How to be faithful to those in your home. How to bask in the sun on the warm patio tiles. And how to be ebullient in the midst of anger and open to what life presents.

My office has felt empty without him today. My toes have been cold, and the sun has remained hidden behind the clouds, which is just as well, since my shadow is not here at my feet.

Time for a Change

When my first husband died, I had some well-intentioned friends who suggested that I get a pet, possibly a dog. While I was grateful they did not ask for his golf clubs (see “Don’t ask for the dead man’s golf clubs” book), I was reluctant to take their advice.

After a few weeks of considering their thoughts, I took the plunge. Well, I say plunge, because we got a fish and a ten gallon tank instead. We actually bought two. The first goldfish we named Vern, after an old curmudgeon, but a lovely gentleman, that I knew from the Oregon Coast. The second we named Speedy, named by Davis’ because if fish could fly through water, this one appeared to do so.

In the ensuing years that we cleaned tanks, prayed over their deaths, and replaced these fish with a few new ones, I was grateful that I had not gotten a dog. There are many risk-takers out in the world. I believe myself to be one of them. I am always trying out new species of plants and was the first to utilize the fiber optic grass in my tribal head pot bought for me years ago. I ran hurdles in high school, and traveled with the college ski club to Colorado without knowing a soul. But I am not a risk taker when it comes to animals, or shall I say, anything other than a human being, or a plant.

So, it comes with some surprise that I found, now was the time to have a dog. I have no concrete reasons other then that when I sit on the kitchen floor with tears in my eyes from a sadness I am experiencing, I comprehend why this dog was put in my life.

Enzo was named after a character in a book who sat with the owner’s wife while she fought cancer. And sometimes, I project this same quality onto my Enzo. When he does sense in me, a sadness, he will engage in eye to eye contact, of course he does this when he has been bad, or is trying to be cute, but nonetheless, his rich chocolate eyes remind me of earth and grounding. And there is a part of me that whispers, namaste, to him – the divine in you honors the divine in me.

I hold Enzo some mornings after the kids leave, and cry for a sister who is in mental and physical pain and for her daughter, my niece, who does not understand why the world asks this of her young soul. And sometimes tears well up because I think Enzo could have shouldered some of my sadness from years ago when Devin died yet I was too stubborn to give in to the notion of dog. I hold onto Enzo and his innocence, as if I am still holding on to some piece of my sister spirit that has been kept safe from harm.

I pray that Enzo can help change my heart. A heart that has become hardened, a heart that no longer holds my faith in God, the justice system. A heart that can only open itself up to the human condition and this little furry animal that a fish could never replace. Maybe I don’t really need a change of heart, I just need help turning it right side up again so that all of life does not run out me. I hope Enzo is strong enough for the both of us.

The Origin of "Enzo"

Lately, we have been asked, “What is the origin of the name Enzo?” Of course, those that know me and know my heritage, know too that Enzo is Italian. Yeah, I know his kind was named after King Charles and all that baloney in the English court, but I tell you, I have seen Enzo in a fit at nighttime, and I tell you, this pup is Italian.

Let’s begin with what Enzo is not. His name is not Endzone, sorry ultimate Frisbee players on our daughter’s teams. His name is not Enzoroni, Mark, he is not a pasta of any sorts. He is not a girl, and his name is not Enza, or short for “influenza”.

His name is derived from the Latin surname Laurentius, that is, "citizen or descendent of Laurento," ancient city of the Lazio region that the Romans associated with a "forest of laurel." His day is celebrated with St. Lawrence on August 10, 2009. Every saint in Italy has their day, and patrons with those names celebrate. Enzo should be no different.

By the way, laurel is a form of leaf usually made into a wreath that is horseshoe shaped. In Greek myths, it was given to special people, such as winners in competitions in poetry or sports. This is good - we are writers and sportsters here in the house. Of course, it was also used as a drug so the ancients could get stoned. We do not subscribe to that, but a little bit for Enzo before bed would not hurt.

Until recent times, laurel wreaths were used to show that someone had done something special (for example, the Olympics gave laurel wreaths to the winners). The saying "resting on one's laurels" came from this and meant that someone can relax now because he or she did something good in the past. The Italians do the rest thing very well. I believe they are still resting from the Roman Empire times. This is surely true of Enzo too, only his idea of relaxing involves laps, usually when we are sitting on the kitchen floor, with no pillow in sight for the weary owners.

To sum up Enzo in one word would be doing him a great injustice. I can tell you that when I call out, "Andiamo", that boy moves. So if I really, really had to come up with one word, I would, of course, say Italian!

With Apologies

05-01-2009

The following is in order of occurrence:

I apologize to my grass for its share of dog poop it has held, and for the share of dog poop that I cannot scoop up with our new Scoop it and Sack it.

I apologize to the shoe company Clark’s, maker of the Privo brand, for defiling their shoes, my brand new (read one day old) shoes, with dog poop that I did not know I stepped in.

I apologize to my kids for telling them all the time to wipe their shoes when I did not have any inkling there was doo-doo below mine and just assumed it was dirt, and smeared that across the rug in the garage.

I apologize to my husband who sat next to me in the movie theatre last night, and put up with my constant seat hopping because I thought the seats smelled funny.

I apologize to the movie theatre. I am sure that Regal Cinemas has cleaned all sorts of bodily excrements off their seats and floor, but one would suppose it was more human waste that dog’s.

I apologize again to my husband, because we took his car. I was tired of driving my new car (only a female can make that statement) and thus carried dog doo onto the mats of his Lexus. He may notice that on his way to work this morning.

I apologize to Enzo, for when he had an accident this morning, following my accident from yesterday, it may very well be because he sniffed out where my shoes had tread the day before.

Finally, I apologize to my neighbors, who, over the course of ten years, I have consistently cursed out under my breath for not picking up their dog poop and have a new found respect for the undesirable but necessary task.

Talking to Myself

My mother used to talk to herself. We would come home from school and she would be folding diapers, perhaps watching General Hospital, wondering aloud how Luke was going to save Laura again. Or she might be found on a Saturday, upstairs, making beds, muttering to herself about what slobs her teenagers were and where did she go wrong.

I too, upon becoming a mom with four loads of laundry, can often be found expounding on the vices of the teenagers in the households, or cursing at my husband for planning a putting green in the backyard, so that my yard has been torn up and is now covered with a blue tarp (and I am not talking Kentucky Bluegrass Blue) waiting for the weather. But I find the weather this time of year easy to predict, four days of rain, followed by four days of unseasonably hot or cold temperatures.

And now, with the pup, I am always spouting off wisdom that he alone understands, or is at least the recipient of. We sit outside, beneath the hackberry tree, now that the silver maple is gone after the windstorm. The wind is blowing about 20 mph and I say, “Oh Enzo, doesn’t this feel good, and I can see him lift his nose into the air, so that the wind can tickle his senses. Enzo, lets go inside. Enzo, what do you think about a walk?

Enzo…Enzo…Enzo. I have to constantly remind myself that he is NOT Davis. He is NOT a human and can truly only respond to commands, and typically through actions, not words. There is no hug or plea from Davis, “Mommy, Carry?!” There is no excitement about going inside to eat lunch, or go for a walk.

I am sure I am not in the minority here, as other pet owners babble on and on to their pet then actually stop to ask themselves, “Why am I talking to you…you wont answer” and then continue to remark about the weather, the flowers and whether Enzo has to go potty or not.

Stupid Pet Tricks

When David Letterman first conceived of this idea, he was definitely naming the dog as the stupid pet. But I am tweaking that concept a bit, to include the stupid things you do because you have a dog. I have accomplished many in just a few days time, so due to sleep deprivation, some due to lack of focus on anything other than house-breaking or dog-proofing my home.

In a stretch of a two hours, I managed to accomplish this:

First, this morning, I stepped in dog do. In my own yard. This is due to the fact that I must have forgotten where Enzo first put down his doo, then I moved and lost track of it after that. I hold fast to the notion that I need bean bags flag, like the NFL refs have, to throw down, at the site of the ball touching the ground or a knee going down, or a penalty occurring. I can simply throw out this bean-flag, near the site of the infraction, in this case, poo at 6 a.m., and know that I will not miss it, when I go to clean it up later, after the sun has risen.

Stupid pet trick number two. While watching my dog chew at my Reef flip flops, I also noticed stuffing that resembled that which might come out of stuffed animals. I then went into our family room to retrieve all the doggie animals and check for missing innards. While avidly studying Enzo’s girlfriends, his favorite stuffed chew toy, I walked right into our makeshift gate, which is not made out of any sort of flexible material, unless you consider an oak plank flexible, in which case you are probably a master of martial arts. When later asked about the red streak on the bare wood, my son was relieved to find out it was not blood, but simply a streak of nail polish from my big toe which had been painted moji-toes red.

Finally, in a rush to get home, not wanting to have left Enzo for too long without the option of impressing me with his house breaking, I scurried to place party invites in three mailboxes in another part of my neighborhood. While the first two went off without a hitch, the third did not. I rooled down my window, then opened the door slightly, reached through the window opening, to pull down the mailbox cover. I inserted the invite into the mailbox and proceeded to think my task was complete. I lowered myself back into my car, with the door still open, and in a split second, “kkkk”, and a scratch appeared in my brand new VENZA, only hours old, on which I had declined the paint and chip warranty, believing I would take better care of this, than I would my leased car.

Of course, there are other issues in my life that have really detracted from my focus. But I contend that I would certainly be able to deal with those issues better were it not for the freckled face and constant presence of Enzo. May he sleep in peace. One of us should!