Happy 15th Birthday, Shassi!

August 27, 1993 a little Shiba came into my life. 15 years later, she's still here and will hopefully be here for a while!

Custody of injured Dover dog delayed until owner's trial

More on Buddy, the Shiba inu who chewed up his own leg. The trial will be held on January 22 next year.

This posting is late because my mother was struck by a staph infection in Burnaby this past week. Luckily she's okay - but since she is 73 and not in the best of health, it was a near thing. We got reports from my cousin James, who looked after Shassi, that Shassi insisted on lying on a sweater of Mom's and arranging it herself. Tierce started looking for me in the middle of the night so that Mischa had to put him in the crate (Mischa was letting Tierce sleep with him in the bed again, silly man) at around 12 to 3, which is the time I usually come up to bed when I'm working late.

It's funny how these dogs, who couldn't care less if you're there, seem to miss you when you've gone. Maybe they're closer to humans than we think.

Today Tierce needed a good shaking. He took offense when I insisted that he pay attention to me instead of some crows who were walking around a parking lot. A flash of the fang and BAM! he was shaken and flat on his back, screaming like he was being slowly dissolved in sulphuric acid. I didn't look around to see who might be phoning the SPCA. A much more subdued Shiba walked beside me for about five minutes before turning into his normal macho self. This is definitely not a dog for the faint of heart but I will not have a dog tell me what he will or will not do.

Speaking of macho, Tierce is starting to become possessive of toys in the dog park. I haven't brought any there because I'm not sure it's a great idea. Unfortunately Tierce starts chasing dogs who have balls and sticks in their mouths and sometimes gets really snarly when they won't give them to him. Today he was having an argument with another 8 month old dog that turned into a shouting match and we had to separate them. So I'm starting to think that I'm going to have to give the dog park a miss and socialize him one-on-one with other dogs.

Tierce's obedience is abysmal - he ignores commands that he knows I can't enforce, like coming when called. We're going back to obedience classes in the new year. I've been practicing "Front" (come) with him, but I don't see it having much effect. We're keeping at it, though. And he does listen to me more than he listens to Mischa.

Tierce is doing better with the pulling - our run today went better than last time. I think it's because I'm stopping at intervals to play with him and that keeps his interest. I'm going to try this again and see if it doesn't help him keep focussed if he knows that he is going to get time outs to play and sniff things and have fun during a run.

Halloween.

Not doing much this year - the death of one of my friends tends to douse festive joy... but here's a picture of Tierce and Shassi at the dog park. Happy Halloween, everybody.

She's still here

Yesterday, everybody but Tierce was at Mom's, sorting stuff for the Garage Sale that was to free us of the junk that we have moved from basement to basement for the last 25 years or so.

Near the end of the sorting, I let Shassi out into the yard where she peed and briskly trotted around, sniffing at things and looking offended when her feet led her into a ball or a clump of grass that her eyes didn’t warn her about. My aunt was nervous for fear that she would wander out the other side of the house and go out into the street. Which she tried. I went around the other side of the house and met her at the gate.

She was not pleased when I carried her back up to the porch and set her down within its confines. I was wistfully remembering her when she was younger and the gleam in her eyes when she was caught after leading us a merry chase. Wasn’t that fun, the eyes used to say. They used to be brown, but are cloudy, now, and barely register anything besides light and dark.

She is kept from the yard and the street there by two plastic panels that are held in place by strategically placed pots of flowers. Unfortunately the one out to the street was not closed all the way and before I realized it, Herself trotted purposefully through.

I ran after her, blessing the near-14 years that made her unwilling to go past a brisk trot. She broke into a gallop when she realized how close I was, but I grabbed her before she really took off. Back to the porch we went. The gate was pulled fully across and a bunch of pansies kept it from going anywhere.

Undaunted, Shassi again headed towards it. With a hard shove of her nose, she pushed the gate aside and again briskly trotted towards the street. Again, I ran out to grab her and piled three more flower pots against the panel.

Just before she bowed to the forces against her, she glanced up at me and in her cloudy eyes I saw a familiar gleam.

Old for sure, but not dead yet.

Shassi - AKA The Misanthropic Shiba

On October 22nd, 1993, I brought Shassi home. She had been born on August 27th, 1993. Now, it's two months shy of her 14th birthday.

I see her growing more vague now. She's nearly blind and at least partly deaf. (We don't know how deaf; since she's never listened to a thing I said in her entire life). She has progressed from giving other dogs the evil eye to trembling violently if she encounters one. She has her little routine with my mother and aunt and spends most of her time sleeping now. She needs some help in and out of the car.

It's funny how a dog's life can mark an era in a human's. I got Shassi when I was 16 - an awkward, self-hating, undersocialized 16. Now I'm three months shy of my 30th birthday. Well, I'm a bit more socialized at least. During Shassi's tenure, I graduated high school - back when it still meant something, left home, started The Misanthropic Shiba, graduated from college, joined the military, left the military and returned to Nanaimo.

Shassi, ever since she toddled into my life, has always been her own dog. At first, it was startling and almost offensive. Dogs were supposed to come when they were bloody well called, dammit! They were supposed to at least pretend some regard for you past the thirteen seconds that it took to ascertain that you hadn't brought any meat or cheese home from the store. They weren't supposed to be the catalyst for the most absurd events that cling to the memory of one's growing up.

We got used to it, even to the point of dragging out the latest Shassi story whenever someone wanted to know if anything interesting had gone on in our lives. Shassi was the dog that everyone gravitated to, proving once again that people are attracted to beings that couldn't care less if everyone around them lived or died. Kena and Buddi, the elder dogs of the pack, were perfectly happy being petted and made much of, and I daresay they got their fill. But Shassi was special. A dog unto herself.

I wish I was more like her. Not to the point where I say, "To hell with everyone!" and live only for my immediate gain. But to the point where I can forgive myself and think well of myself even if I've made mistakes or done something stupid or thoughtless or careless. The ability to take note of a situation, take the lessons to heart and move on is something that my dog possesses that I really wish I did.

But I'm only 29 and I have time. Shassi is nearly 14 and her sun is setting. I believe that she has a year or so left; perhaps even two or three. But it won't be long, in the terms of a human lifespan.

Shassi, dog of my childhood, I love you. For your sake and the sake of all the dogs who I was privileged to share my life with, I wish - I hope - that there is a better beyond where we will meet again.