Oh what a knight: observations from outside

by Lorin Michel Saturday, November 10, 2012 8:30 PM

Guest post by Squire Squirrel

The Squire here and can I just say that I’m pretty worn out? Trying to get this new knight-wanna-be in any kind of shape to even begin his extensive training is tiring. I can’t even get the guy to look at me. He’s so obsessed with what’s down that he has yet to look up. It’s frustrating. I don’t remember this with the actual knight, the real knight, the big dog.

Let me tell you what’s happening. It shouldn’t take long, because it’s essentially nothing. Oh, he’s cute and all. I actually kind of like his red fur cause it’s a little like mine and I’ve always been proud of the reddishness of my fur coat. My mother, Madam Squirrel, use to tell me that she thought we must be descended from the great Irish squirrels of the 16th century. Back then, when the Celts ruled on the isle so green, squirrels were their constant companions. Sometimes they were also dinner. I never liked that part. But that’s why we squires immigrated to this country. According to legend, or at least my mom, it happened quite by accident when Old Squire Squirrel the first and his soon-to-be missus Old Squire Squirrel were squirreling around near the water. Some horses rode up and Old Squire decided they needed to take cover “lest they get et.”

That’s old-time Squire speak for somebody was going to be on the menu.

So Old Squire and his soon-to-be missus jumped onto some big wooden thing to hide. It was a boat. Next thing they knew they were someplace else where they decided to stay. Eventually there was Old Squire the 82nd and he and his Mrs. Old Squire caught a ride to the Americas, their kids traveled west in somebody’s wagon and that’s how we got here.

The Squire ancestors were all assigned to a knight. It’s in our blood. That’s how I got to be the knight’s squire. He was a good knight, too. Very stoic, very powerful. Toward the end, all he had to do was use his eyes and whoever he was looking at started to quiver. Of course, that’s really all he could use, his eyes. He was kind of old but still strong and he was still a great knight. I did good by him, I think. I was always there to tell him when some other element was flying in, like birds or that big red hawk that sometimes drops by. When he comes, I high-tail it for my den in a big time hurry. I don’t have any desire to be his dinner – to be ‘et’ – any more than the original Old Squire wanted to be. I always told the Knight “in coming!” before I scurried though.

Some knights might have said I was cowardly, but the knight, my knight, he understood. I mean, I’m not that big and I’d fit pretty easily into that hawk’s beak.

Now there is the knight-to-be. He is still a little wet behind the ears. A nutbag, whatever that is. I hear Hey Lorin calling him that all the time, like “Hey, nutbag, what are you doing out there?” She says it really nice and sweet, too, like she thinks he’s cute. I think he’s a little bit crazy, running around outside. He even chases that never-will-be-a-knight-no-way-no-how Kobe along the side of the house. They can’t even see each other but they run back and forth and bark up a storm, raising such a ruckus, it’s like to bring Old Squire back from squirrel heaven.

Me, this morning. See my red fur?

Hey Kevin was out on the patio this morning, huddled up in his bathrobe while the red knight-to-be ran around the yard looking for a tree. Never looked up once. Hey Kevin did though.

“Hey Squire,” he said. I could see his breath. It was really cold this morning. I like it when it’s cold. I like how my fur gets thicker. It makes me look bigger and tougher.

“Hey Kevin. How’s he doing?”

“He’s good. But he’s definitely a nutbag.”

I asked what a nutbag was since I’d heard them say that and it didn’t sound like they were actually talking about nuts in a bag. Personally, I like nuts. So I was thinking that I might like a nutbag.

After Kevin described what he meant – that he was just fun and crazy and had a lot of energy – I nodded.  Those are all good traits in a knight-to-be. Then they went inside and I watched the red knight swoosh his tail and trot in to see Hey Lorin. I nodded again. I do that a lot when I’m thinking. I think I’m going to like this nutbag.

OK. Gotta squirrel. The missus is calling. I think she’s making something with nuts for breakfast. Like I said, I like nuts. I like nutbags.

People let me tell ya ‘bout my best friend(s)

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, November 7, 2012 7:12 PM

In today’s adventure of Kevin and Lorin got a new dog, we find the blustery little red head named Cooper tearing around the house at near warp speed. It happens every day at around 3 pm. This is the time our darling boy seems to unleash his inner nutbag. He races up and down the stairs, takes the corner at the bottom of said stairs like a cartoon dog, feet slipping, sliding and spinning out from underneath him on the hardwood floor as he tries to change direction toward the kitchen. He then tears toward the kitchen, makes another hard right at the rug, spring-boarding into said kitchen where he proceeds toward his water bowl to lap up a bunch of cool, clear, fresh water, half of which gets slopped onto the floor.

Luckily the kitchen is tile.

Back to this afternoon. It was about 3:30. The spinning feet had happened; the slurp had been slopped. Now it was time for some Wooba. Wooba is Cooper’s favorite toy. It’s some sort of brown thing with a cute bear-type face, a body stuffed with a tennis ball that actually squeaks, and five long tails tailing off, sort of octopus-like. For some reason, he is completely infatuated with Wooba.

Wooba was laying on the floor in the dining room. Cooper scooped him up, then raced back up the stairs. He flipped Wooba around a few times, then decided to race back down the stairs. But he lost Wooba in transit, so he picked up the pace, trying desperately to save the careening toy as it bounced ever downward with Cooper in hot pursuit. He managed to snag the toy at the last step then launched himself, with Wooba firmly in his mouth, into the living room. He whirled and twirled, shook the toy to kill it, ran toward the kitchen, made a spin move worthy of cirque du soleil and took off toward the back door in full growl as Kevin and I watched in mock horror.

There was no way to warn him, no time to stop him. Instead he went head first into the door, through the screen and out onto the patio where he dropped Wooba and turned back to look at us like, “Hey. That was kinda different. When did you guys put a door there?”

In Cooper’s defense, the door had been wide open for a short time this afternoon and he had been racing back and forth from the back yard into the house. In his little Cooper mind, he assumed that it still was. Right up until the time the screen tried to stop him and failed. Miserably.

After looking at us, he turned back to Wooba, picked it up, ran into the back yard and proceeded to growl and squeak and throw and bark. It was so adorable we couldn’t even be mad at him. In fact, Kevin left his post at the screen, trying to figure out if it was salvageable, to go play as well.

Destroying the screen door is not new in this house. Maguire, in his earlier terror days, was known to barrel through the house, fur flying, ears back and decide not to stop at the door but rather try to just go through it. Instead he’d knock it into next week, completely off the track as it flew through the air to land in the trees. When he did that, we had to replace the whole door, not just the screen. So we’re making progress.

The screen is currently being held in place with blue painter’s tape. There’s also a big blue X in the middle of the door so that his Cooper-ness hopefully sees it the next time he decides that he and Wooba Have. To. Be. Outside. Right. Now.

This little guy has quickly grabbed our hearts. His personality is coming out. He’s so cute, so red, so fast; such a good boy. I look at him sometimes and I wonder who would have and could have so easily given him up. I don’t think anyone ever encouraged him to be a good dog. I think he was ignored. I think he had people who never gave him much of a thought, and that breaks my heart. I don’t understand people like that; I don’t want to know them.

Instead, I want to know the people who would give up safety for their pets, who refuse to be rescued from harm if their pets can’t come along. I was reminded of this again watching the devastation from Hurricane Sandy. Just as with previous natural disasters, like Hurricane Katrina, so many animals were displaced. And now comes a Nor’Easter to add to the misery. Some pets have owners who would rather die than be separated from their four-legged creatures, and yet some have been forced to do just that. Some people who have been displaced and are currently in shelters aren’t allowed to have their dogs or cats with them and have placed them in shelters, temporarily. But the animals don’t know that; the dogs don’t understand why they’re where they are, with people they don’t know, away from their homes, their people, their toys.

There are rescue groups and shelters working overtime, filled to capacity, in desperate need of help themselves. They need volunteers, they need pet food and cat litter, leashes, and more. Organizations like Best Friends, one of the strongest animal rescue groups in the country and headquartered in Kanab, Utah, is at the forefront of helping as they so often are. Their Emergency Response Fund is helping groups throughout the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic to keep displaced animals comfortable, loved and sheltered until their parents can hopefully retrieve them. Their help is invaluable.

They’re keeping these poor four-legged creatures in their hearts which may bring some small measure of comfort to the parents whose hearts are breaking. They’re the kind of organizations that make it possible for Kevin and I to now have our new best friend, Cooper. While he didn’t come from Best Friends, he did come from a rescue. And as a once-again puppy parent, I feel better knowing that if something was to happen here, there are people who help. Best Friends that help best friends, with food, shelter, leashes.

And a Wooba.

I wonder if they do anything about screen doors. 

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live out loud

Boo humbug

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, October 31, 2012 9:44 PM

One of my favorite characters in English literature is Ebenezer Scrooge. I can almost recite A Christmas Carol word for word, and especially Scrooge’s dialogue. He’s a crusty old screw, dastardly, miserable, alone and believes in absolutely nothing. His most famous line is, of course, “Bah! Humbug!” He uses it to dismiss anything and everything that doesn’t fit into his world-view (sounds like a certain political party). In Charles Dickens’ famous parable about finding redemption at a very special time of year, humbug is used to declare Christmas a fraud. To which I say, humbug!

But what about Halloween? This night that is haunted by people dressed as others seems to fit the definition ascribed to the word humbug: a person or thing that tricks or deceives or talks or behaves in a deceptive, dishonest, false or insincere way, even if it’s a joke. The continuous call of ‘trick or treat’ from kids dressed as pirates, princesses, convicts, Star Wars characters or comic book icons, even political personas (which also qualifies as comic most times) seems to fit that definition. They’re pretending to be something they’re not, which happens to be the definition of fraud. Though it is Halloween, and they are kids. So I will cut them a little slack.

I actually like Halloween. When I was a kid, I loved to dress up, usually in a homemade costume, something pieced together from whatever was in the house and complemented by something purchased for next to no money at the local department store. My brother and sister, both younger than I, would accompany me along with a parental figure, and we’d scurry through the neighborhood, knocking on doors, ringing doorbells, holding out our bags and saying those famous Halloween words. My favorite costume, and I have no idea why, is one where I was a socialite. I had a long, light blue, satin dress, studded with sequins. Long white gloves that reached up beyond my elbows. I wore costume jewelry on top of the gloves. I had an off-white shawl made of dog-knows what kind of faux-fur material, a yellow gauzy type wig, and a carnival masque. I think I wore jeans underneath, and a long sleeve t-shirt. It was New York, after all. At the end of October. It was cold.

There are three other costumes I remember. In college, friends and I dressed up as homeless college students and went to a few houses. The people laughed; we got candy. Years and years later, when I was between husbands, my friend Connie and I went to a Halloween party. I was a pirate, complete with a parrot tattoo on my shoulder and an eye patch. And years after that, Kevin and I went to a Halloween party as Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. I had a very bad pageboy type wig, a blue windbreaker that sported big white FBI letters, and a fake ID. I even had a small and very fake .38 pistol strapped to a belt holster. Kevin was in an orange jumpsuit, and a white straight-jacket. We got him a mask and we rented a dolly. I wheeled him into the party (with the help of Dracula; he was too heavy for me to do alone) just like Dr. Lecter was wheeled into an airplane hangar in The Silence of the Lambs, and we were a huge hit. Even won a trophy for most creative costumes.

Tonight, we’re not really celebrating Halloween. We stopped last year because of Maguire. He was too old and as much as he loved all the kids coming to the door, getting up off the floor was too much for him. This year, because of our new Cooper, we also opted out because we don’t know him well enough to know how he’d react to constant knocks and doorbell rings.

But I’m still celebrating the hoax of it. The trick of it. The humbug of it.

According to the Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue by Francis Grose, from the late 18th century, to hum meant to deceive. It was combined with the early medieval Scandinavian and the Middle English word bugge, meaning bogey which, in turn, is a derivative of the German word bögge from which böggle-mann (goblin) is derived. Then along came the Welsh Bwg or ghost. Bug can actually mean ghost or goblin and A Christmas Carol is about ghosts. So humbug is about the deceit of ghosts, goblins and ghouls. It’s about Halloween.

On this night, one filled with all manner of spooky, one that we’re not celebrating, I am instead celebrating the parody of it all. And living it out loud amongst the pretend fright of the small children I can hear racing from house to house, giggling and talking, while parents try desperately to keep up. As Ebenezer Scrooge would no doubt say if any dared to come to his door: “Boo! Humbug!”   

And dog bless us, every one.

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live out loud

The many months of October

by Lorin Michel Tuesday, October 30, 2012 8:48 PM

I’m a big fan of the tenth month of the year. I honestly don’t know why but I suspect it has something to do with the advent of cooler weather and more colorful trees, with mornings dawning earlier and colder and nights painting the sky dark earlier as well. I love the smell of wood burning in a fireplace; I love wearing jeans and sweaters and big, thick socks on my feet and still needing a throw over me when I sit on the couch. This always begins in the month of October.

I love that October is the first full month of fall and that the holidays are officially here. It’s my favorite time of year and I can already start to hear the jazz of holiday music ringing in my head and oozing through the house. I’m not technically allowed to play holiday music until Thanksgiving. My husband and son have held me to a promise I made, stupidly, many years ago. I have to admit though, that I sometimes sneak a bit of festivity onto my playlist sooner rather than later.

I love that this is the month I finally start to shop for the perfect gifts for my family and friends.

October is also about several beverages including beer. Oktoberfest rings throughout the world, never anywhere so fabulously than in Germany where it’s called die Wiesn. Locals call is “Wies’n.” It’s a 16-day festival attended by millions of people where large quantities of beer are consumed. Nearly 7 million liters poured each year where each pint must be approximately 6 percent alcohol and brewed within the city limits of Munich. This tradition started on October 12, 1810 when the Crown Prince Ludwig married Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburghausen.

October is when grapes finally ripen on the vines of North America and Europe. Thick clusters of red and white varietals hang heavily on roped wood and are either hand picked or machine picked depending on the winery. Our syrah grapes came in this month; our cab grapes will be picked this month, though we don’t get to pick them up until November 4. By next October, those grapes should be wine.

October is the month when pink reigns and we turn our focus to awareness for breast cancer. National Breast Cancer Awareness Month began in 1985 as a partnership between the American Cancer Society and a pharmaceutical company that’s now part of AstraZeneca, which makes several anti-breast cancer drugs. It has always been about promoting mammography as one of the most if not the most effective way to fight breast cancer. It was Evelyn Lauder of the Estee Lauder brand of skin care and cosmetics who established the pink ribbon as its October symbol.

It’s also the month of the holy rosary. Praise dog.

And National Bullying Prevention Month, where a company called PACER urges communities nationwide to join forces and raise awareness of the bullying of kids in school. In fact, schools, businesses, organizations and communities come together to help people realize what bullying can do, short term and long term. Their color is orange. 

Coincidentally October is also the Month of the Young Adolescent. Established by the Association for Middle Level Education, this effort is international in scope, collaborating with parents, schools and youth-oriented organizations to focus on the needs of kids 10 to 15. It focuses on parents being knowledgeable, understanding that healthy bodies plus healthy minds equals healthy adolescents, and pushing education and opportunity.

Then comes All Hallow’s Eve and Halloween when kids dress up like ghouls and goblins and Disney characters and trek from one house to another in search of the most candy. It is followed by Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, a Mexican holiday that celebrates those who have died. Its origins are 2500 to 3000 years ago.

Celebrating the dead is a way of celebrating the living and the future even as we embrace the past. Perhaps that’s why one of my favorite things about October is that it is also National Adopt a Shelter Dog month. While our new Cooper didn’t come from a shelter, he did come from a rescue. He is our way of celebrating our beloved Maguire.

This October, I can’t think of a better way to live it out loud than to bark it out loud with love of our beautiful rescue.

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live out loud

So we got a dog

by Lorin Michel Sunday, October 28, 2012 7:06 PM

I have been missing having a dog for months, specifically missing having Maguire. After we lost him in March, our lives were less hectic. There was no more dog fur everywhere or on everything, or dog slobber on the floor. There were no trips to Petco for food and “hip cookies,” chewable treats packed with glucosamine and chondroitin for his stiff and arthritic hips. Suddenly there were no chew toys in the hospital, otherwise known as the top of the refrigerator, where all toys that had been ceremoniously pulled apart with their stuffing placed haphazardly on the floor around the now unstuffed and flat carcass went for surgical repair.

After we lost him, our lives were less full.

I have long been of the mind set that when you have something wonderful in your life, and you lose that something, you ultimately want it again. People who have long happy marriages and are completely in love with their spouse, and then lose that spouse to death, often have a strong desire to remarry again quickly. Some people dismiss those marriages and think that it’s disrespectful to the person who died. But I’ve always thought the opposite. If you are lucky enough to know the joy of a good, rewarding relationship, it’s actually a testament to the person who was lost to remarry again. Or so I’ve convinced myself.

It’s how I felt about having a dog. We had the world’s greatest dog and for 15 plus years he brought joy into our lives. When he was gone, the grief was overwhelming. It took me months before I could talk about him; longer still before I didn’t cry. Even now, as I think of that big beautiful bear, I am tearing up. I loved him so very much.

And it’s because of that love that I missed the presence of a dog in our home. Specifically, I missed Maguire’s presence, but he was never coming back. And I wanted, and yes needed, a dog in our lives. So a few weeks ago, I decided that it was getting close to time. I was feeling ready. I knew Kevin wouldn’t be quite there though, so we had to talk about it. Maguire was the love of his life and in his mind, no dog would ever be able to take his place. We talked and talked and ultimately he too came to realize that it would be OK. There will never be another Maguire, but there can be another dog who is wonderful and who brings us constant joy.

We went to the local shelter several times. We even went to another nearby shelter. We weren’t entirely sure what we wanted in terms of type but we figured we’d know when we found him or her. We did know that we wanted to adopt an adult dog, one that was at least 3. We wanted to give a dog who had been given up on a happy life. We wanted a mutt, again the type of dog a lot people don’t want. We didn’t want a puppy; everybody wants a puppy. We wanted a dog who needed to be rescued.

The shelters, sadly are filled with pit bulls and Chihuahuas, and some German shepherds. It’s fascinating and sad to think how many people had these dogs and essentially threw them away. We don’t particularly like small dogs, and pit bulls and German shepherds are a little too big. Then I started looking at some of the local rescue groups; I went on Petfinder. And there he was. A five-year old golden retriever mixed with some type of herding dog (we’re pretty sure it’s border collie). Red fur, floppy ears, and an eye infection. His name was Andy. Other than that, he was perfect. Or so we hoped.

I emailed the woman whose group (Labs and Buddies) had him. She’s an attorney in Westlake Village and we spent at least a week trying to arrange a time that would work for everyone. Finally, on Thursday late afternoon, we drove to Westlake and met this 50-pound furball self. He was nutty and unfocused, unsettled and completely oblivious to our presence. All we could do was laugh as he raced around the little grassy knoll.

We left that night, went to the Wineyard and talked about what to do. We were nervous, scared, excited, terrified. I sent a note to the rescue group that night: we wanted to be “Andy’s” forever home. On Friday late afternoon, that’s exactly what we became.

Andy became Cooper and Cooper became a Michel. For the first 24 hours, he remained unsettled and unsure; his stomach upset. He was afraid to sleep even though he was obviously exhausted. We went for a long walk on Saturday morning and a shorter one last night. Another short one this morning and then tonight, we’ll go for a longer one. Today he is markedly more calm, more comfortable in his new surroundings. As I write this, he’s sleeping on the floor here in the kitchen. I know he’s sleeping, not just because his eyes are closed (a dead giveaway I know) but because he’s dreaming. His front and back feet are racing, he’s growling. His hedgehog toy is beside him. He seems content.

We expect it to be several weeks before he knows that he’s home, before he finally understands that he’s not going anywhere. We know that it will take us a few weeks, too, to get re-acclimated to having four feet prancing on the floors. Already there is fur everywhere, and slobber; toys where for eight months there were none.

We will never forget our beloved Maguire. He will always live in our hearts. I think, and I hope, he would be pleased to know that it was because of him that we could adopt another. And so… we got another dog. Named Cooper.

So I’m new here but I think I’m going to like it

by Lorin Michel Saturday, October 27, 2012 8:13 PM

I’m Cooper. Yesterday I was Andy and a long time before that I was Lucky, but I guess I was un-Lucky so I got a new name and then I was lucky enough to get another new name. I just got here yesterday. These people say they’re my new mom and dad, and they brought me home in this really big red car that I almost couldn’t get into but I did, with a little help from my new dad. I was a little afraid – I mean, who are these people? But they seemed nice and they gave me a new collar and it already had two pieces of really blingy bling on it. And I have my new name to go with my new collar and since everybody keeps calling me Cooper I guess I’m Cooper.

I don’t really understand this computer thing. I don’t really understand a lot right now, but I think I might like it here. It sure would be nice to have a forever home. I’ve been in a lot of places, especially lately, and I’m only like five years old.

Cooper Michel

Here’s my story: I lived with a family for a while and I thought they really liked me. I liked them. I thought I was lucky because that was my name. But then they had a baby and they didn’t want me anymore, so they gave me to this lady named Laura who takes dogs that nobody wants. I was really sad. I didn’t know if maybe I did something wrong but I don’t think I did. After that I was in at least three other houses with three other families but I was really just visiting, not really living with them. I was waiting until somebody found me and I could go home.

I got my picture taken and I was on a website! I think it was called Petfinders. But still, nobody wanted me. I thought it was a pretty good picture. I looked cute that day in my golden reddish fur. I think I’m a golden retriever and border collie, whatever that means. I’m just a boy. And then, finally, somebody did want me. I met these two people, the ones called mom and dad, a couple of days ago, and then last night they came with their big red car and my fancy new collar and my new name and I went home.

It’s a pretty nice home, too. I have my own water and food bowl, and a special place to sleep in the same room as my new mom and dad. I have cookies, too. Lots and lots of cookies. I get one when I sit, especially if I sit when they use my name. I sit a lot. I think I like being Cooper. Cooper equals cookies. That’s good.

Today I got up early and after my new dad took me outside, I came racing in the house and immediately went to my new mom’s side of the bed. I put my head on the bed next to her and wagged my tail really hard. I want her to like me. She petted me and rubbed me and scratched behind my ears and said “good morning, Cooper.” There wasn’t a cookie though. Probably because I didn’t sit.

Outside after a bath

I also have to remember that cookies are only in the kitchen.

Then we went for a really long walk and even stopped at a place called Starbucks so my new mom and my new dad could get something called coffee. I had some water. It was good. I met some new people and then we walked some more. When we got back home – HOME! – I had some more water and then I took a nap on the kitchen floor. I like the kitchen. It always smells good there and also, too, cookies.

I’m still a little weirded out. When I said sleep, I really was just laying quietly. I’m kind of afraid to close my eyes. What if when I open them, my new mom and dad aren’t here? What if I have to move again? I don’t want to move again. I think I like it here. I even have a new hedgehog toy.

I like my new mom and dad, too. They’re nice and they’re trying really hard to make me feel good about being here. I wish they wouldn’t try so hard. I feel pretty good already even if I’m a little afraid. But if they want me to sit when they say my name, I will. Cause then I get a cookie.

And don’t tell them that I already know, ‘k? I’m Cooper and I think I’m going to like it. 

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