Life Is But A Dream

Leap up on morning strong hind legs, bound with assurance, dash through rain wet spring grass, bounce for the thrill of it, bounce to be highly admired, jump up for a full begging bowl, now bounce in thanks for the deliciousness of life.

Mama Ragni taught me this kani woof chant while demonstrating the last bit at breakfasts in our first kitchen on Seventh Street. All the Collective was crowded in there: my two brothers who went away quickly, Mama Ragni, Papa Sunja, who also left too soon, Douglasina Pricklepuss or Miss D for dangerously disagreeable, Malka, briefly my feline puppy-sitter, two more miri, rotund Yotur and gypsy Esmeralda, Baldey Broken-Beak, our resident curmudgeon crow shaman, shy Umalupani pocket parrot, two ring-necked parakeets whose names I’ve misplaced, and those self-proclaimed kitchen-perch kings, Birdo and Varna Macaw. We were a noisy bunch, always tangled up in each other’s doings. Only four of us still possess meat bodies fed by Hilary. Squawk, squawk, yap, and mew.

In those days my eyes saw what my ears heard. The cat that scampered, a peruni child that hissed, my papa proudly prancing although restrained by a leash, caged Birdo declaiming articles of avian law. Flanked by parents, I went for happy-tail walks to grassy places where squirrels quickly abandoned tidbit searching to scurry up trees too branchy tall for us to leap at. In those dashing days my legs obeyed me.

Then you went away, Papa Sunja, to that home where you require only a transparent self, since this best can be carried in cloud, wind, and dream to visit meat body folk. I walked beside Mama Ragni, guarding her as her eyes slowly whitened with loss. Joel Bicycle, who fed me compliments, held one leash, Hilary, who knows human law, held the other. Brenda Biscuit, whom we dogs tasted before accepting her into our Collective, handed us treats for obeying that law.

Lord Sun and I had birthdays. Ragni smelt older. We moved from the capacious kitchen with gated dog room in which I had been born to one on Willis Avenue where wash sink, stove, table, chairs, cupboards, and food holding frig left little space for a dog basket. However we had a huge weed planted yard to explore and roofed dog patio behind the car house, which immediately was used for extra furniture and tubs of things rather than our car. Just one more Ragni birthday and I became an orphan. The sky in my bright eyes began to cloud, my heart to lie down in loneliness even though I was never alone. My dreams began to waken.

When you, young Ourai, ask why I spend hours prone in the pen that protects me from your enthusiastic company, it is because my eyes are closed to the life you see. What is invisible, scentless for you is sun vivid, smelling of gravy-rich memories for me. Dream eyes open, I play again the roll-me-over game with Malka, chase Papa Sunja around a bush, defy Douglasina’s jibes with a snarl, snatch tossed popcorn, juggle down beside soft-coated Mama Ragni. Who wouldn’t choose to stretch out with such dreams when standing erect on four legs has become a tiresome exercise. You, Laihainai Ourai, named for the Spring Wind that blows new energy into our green world and last year’s fur from your back, will, perhaps tomorrow, behold it grip Uli Var, sweeping her seventeen-year-old bones wrapped in age stained white fur off to where my new self will no longer have need of this dream life.

Uli Var

Hello World and Aunties and Uncles

This is a blog created by animals (and birds) for animals (and birds), however, I’d like to extend greetings in this my first ABCD post to my support group of human aunties and uncles, who have so greatly contributed to my education, entertainment, and culinary experiences since I arrived here as a pup. Since my foster grandmother, Uli, prefers a dream existence to a working one, I’ve lacked a guiding paw (or nip). One can’t expect cats to take up the slack. Two of them, Malka (“I hate you forever, dog”) and Yotur, the four-legged tummy, opted out last year. Esmeralda and Whiskers maintain a careful feline policy of “I don’t see you, you don’t see me.” Then there are the two Big Beaks, Birdo and Varna, who make cacophonous and biased comments about my canine habits. I’m not surrounded by animal joy.

Nevertheless, I have managed to keep the upbeat attitude I brought from my birthplace in Southern California. I’m a February pup, who opened eyes on a spring world of entrancing scents and exciting bustle. Hence my name, Laihainai Ourai, Spring Wind. Perhaps that delicious moment of awareness also awoke the poetess in me. Certainly it inspired me to want to communicate my experiences to anyone around me. The bark is a wonderful canine tool, so expressive and impressive. Finally, and it’s about time given I’ve been an ABCD Collective member since April 2017, I’ve been allowed to write a post. So I intend to pack it with a backlog of observations, some of which I have been emailing to my previously mentioned support group. I keep my paws busy pressing keys on Hilary’s iPad.

First of all, this Willis Avenue house is a good location for my dog den. The puppy pen I was first offered simply could not contain my ambitions. Three hours and I had scaled its fencing. The pen now belongs to Uli. I have a gated kitchen with adequate flooring on which to spread out my collection of toys, a table under which I can hide to eat forbidden snacks, and a choice of chairs for sleeping. Nowadays I can stretch myself tall enough to view what is happening on the tabletop and, sometimes, to borrow something from it.

It was obvious I had been hired to fill the Collective’s vacant position of Protection Agency officer since Uli definitely considered herself retired from duty. Perhaps the Collective members (naming no names) expected me to fit the stereotype of a toy-sized American Eskimo. I am not a toy, being a nice hefty weight and about twice Uli’s height and bark capability. True, she has a cute, fluffy coat, but that’s rather a disadvantage in sunny San Jose. We have discussed these differences during moments she’s been awake.

I love to bark and I love to bounce. Life is full of thrilling encounters, such as visits from my puppy godmother, Auntie Linda, or catching sight of one of our backyard feline members scooting away to the safety of the cats patio, or scenting a fresh bag of treats brought by Uncle Jim. Yes, best of all, I love to sniff. This neighborhood is ripe with tantalizing smells. A walk is an olfactory tour of poles, fencing, sidewalks, front yards when my leash reaches, and discarded trash. There’s a good spread of the latter around here. I insist on examining each interesting odor in order to process and store its information. A dog, says Uli, is an encyclopedia of smells. Unfortunately, her edition is out-of-date.

What new adventures will my second spring bring? (Hint, my birthday is February 11). I expect to help again with garden pruning, to take longer walks as days lengthen, perhaps to be introduced to some dog friends (preferably the male kind), to roll around the idea of puppies, and to enjoy being such an attractive, clever, and creative canine. Look for another post very soon.

Laihainai Ourai