Tuesday Morning, I'm awake

Tuesday Morning. I’m awake.  Thank you God.  Another day. I so appreciate the little munchkin room mate Madigan. He was irritated at me in the night when my feet crowded him. He sleeps at the end of my bed. My little puppy guardian. Well, we’ve not made it back to the bed. I’m sleeping on the couch because I’m afraid he might fall off of  the bed or pee and poop in the clothes I’ve piled at the side. I do laundry and bring it back in a bag a can’t say I’m very good at stowing. Now i’m stepping over pee pads and searching out poop that’s mostly on the pee pads but might still appears as an underfoot surprise.  He’s a very smart dog and learning house training okay.  Unfortunately with the rain and cold I can’t get him outside. He needs to be lifted down the stairs.  

I don’t know what’s going on internationally.  Everything I hear about Canada, the liberal government and Trudeau is appalling and frightening.  I feel my once fine country is being turned into a third world slum with communism and dictatorship looming.  The Covid continues to spread with the fear and hysteria. The lockdowns don’t make any sense from a scientific health perspective.  My patients are plagued with mental illness. The anxiety and depression and despair are palpable.  I daily reassure, prescribe meds and diagnose illness.  

It’s like all these administrations are one trick ponies. We had the ‘climate change hysteria’ with everything focus on the ‘the world’s dying give me money’ while every other aspect of life was belittled. “Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”  says harry only to have Jill shreik, “Don’t you care. We’re all going to die.”  Now suddenly we’re oll goingto die for Covid.  But what about my job , what about church, school, music, the theatre company.  

I Know. 

The isolation is beginning to wear on me. I’m like I was solo sailing.  I spend alot of time alone. Writer’s do. Wilderness survivalists do. I have alot of experience. I don’t mind being a hermit. I like it here. I’ve this new funny roommate. Right now he’s chewing a bone which is so much better than when he’s chewing cable. Yesterday he found fishing reel and unreeled fish line all over the living room. I felt like a Navy Seal had booby trapped my place.  I had to cut my way through.  

I continue to pray and ask God for guidance.  

The future is so uncertain.

I wonder if this is any more true of any other time or just a product of the awareness brought on by Covid.  I am aging. I will die. We hear of people dying all the time.

No one I personally have known has died in months.  Patients have attempted suicide but every other patient I know has lost someone and grief is heavy in the air. What I fear is the torture and isolation of the nursing homes.  Deaths are great there. I remember Dad saying how horrible it was to be confined to bed blind with a hospital acquired infection. Solitary confinement, he called it.

I used to take comfort from the thought that I’d write the great Canadian novel. I thought to sail across the Atlantic retracing the path of my forefathers back to Scotland. I’ve looked forward to going to Aberdeen where my grandfather hailed from. Then I actually fell to the childish becoming of a ‘lord’ as a result of buying a foot square of Aberdeenshire land in Scotland for $50.  What a ruse!  Now I’m Lord Hay.  Some family probably owned that land one day as that’s the clan origins. If it’ had not been Aberdeenshire I’d not have fallen for the inspired money making venture. Now I’d like to visit ‘my land’.  

I have sexual thoughts.  Bisexual.  Romantic. Orgies.  I dream of Egypt and barges and fans and being fed grapes. I have strong young men and women serving me. I channel some ancient Gods or aliens or emperors.  Mostly I think of massages. What does one do after an orgasm.  There’s whatever leads up to it. I have friends. Even now I have to socially distance. I can’t have assistance with the function of orgasm anymore than I can hope to have someone scratch my back. I’m alone with my own bodily functions.  I imagine royal assistants and laugh.  How once there were chambermaids to the king. But then there was constant paranoia. Even now we don’t know what Gates plans to put in the vaccines he may well force on the world with the complicity of the weakling corrupt Trudeau.  I like Elon Musk. I’m delighting in his space age activties. Perhpas I’d like a plae on Mars.  This world has become too adolescent and bizarre.

But what really do I have to complain about. I m thanikful for the food, the fresh running water, indoor plumbing, heat, the intermittent good weather.  Christmas Advent is here.  The Coming of the King. There’s the renewal.  Spring isn’t that far off. Each day I plod. My back hurt. My joints complain but I’m moving forward, slouching towards bethlehem perhaps. 

I’ve so much to be thankful for but though I have a full belly I take no pleasure in the many who have not.  I want us all to be blessed. I don’t have the I win you lose trait . It’s always been for as long as I can remember, we’re all have to go through to the last one before we can all go through. There’s no hierarchy in the wisdom of the spirutual worldl. There’s no first. We all arrive together. so we might as well help the one falling behind.  I will die I supposed but I can’t get ahead.

I hear of all the deaths from overdoses and think of the luxury and poverty.  I could be captaining my sailboat across the cold Atlantic but I’d rather have a sex change and find pleasure inside out of the elements.  I see the street person getting some cheap short lived pleasure from drugs and can’t judge them.  It’s the same as abortion and euthanasia now. The ultra rich elite allow slum accomodation. The main problem is the courts. The judges allow the bullies thugs and gangs to terrorize the people. Sellig them drugs and taking the best for themselves with all the corruption of the legal system.  I idealize these matters only to know that everyone really isn’t corrupt but indeed is doing the best the can.

Everyone is doing the best they can.  

Everyone is doing the best they can.

Some are sicker than others.

I could do more but I’m lazy too., I fantasize about beaches in the tropics.  I long to sail in warm weather. I consider selling my offshore sailing vessle for a lighter rigged coastal cruise I can better handle. I’m happy smaller more constrained. My dreams are smaller. I’m thinking lakes rather than oceans. 

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

I am thankful for the puppy. I’m thankful for work and purpose. I muddle on.  It’s enough I suppose. I’d like to see the confusion lift. I’m afraid of the UN and the Great Reset and communism and persecution and dictators and poverty.  I fear aging in cockroach infested nursing homes.  I fear torture.  

But God is good and I feel distant from God.  I feel dsitant from my fellow man and woman.  

I was visitted by Laura on the weekend and it was comforting.  

I don’t know what I want at time even.  

I pray.  Thank you God for this creation. Thank you for the opportunities. 

I’m looking forward to another coffee and a shower and a walk with the puppy and my camera. I like taking pictures of birds.  

Clown cyclists of Burnaby: The CYCOPaths.

I was walking the Brunette River trail with Laura and Madigan.  Laura is a beautiful grandmother and Madigan is a adorable priceless 9 week old cockapoo. We were only walking for an hour, two at most, seeing maybe  40 or more walkers and half as many cyclists. Not one of the walkers or hikers showed any evidence of abject stupidity. Not a single one even had a Monty Python funny walk. There were lots of dogs too and they appeared well behaved like their masters.

By contrast the cyclists were utterly incompetent. Despite many of them wearing the cutting edge in cycling fashion and having the most expensive of bikes, we’re talking thousands of dollars of gear, not one knew how to cycle.  Not one.  True there were no crashes despite how obvious it was so many were mental wankers.  That was solely due to the quick wits and intelligence of the walkers. Not one of the cyclists had two neutrons they could rub together.  Except perhaps one who was the exception. 

I bicycled across Europe. I’ ve cycled cities and trails.  I’m  a Harley Davidson and Vespa driver along with a couple of other road machines.  I know all about cycling.  Not one of the people on that path did. 

First there were no bells heard.  When cycling on paths with people it is evidence of training, intelligence and competence that a cyclist announces their presence coming up behind someone by ringing their bell.  Without the bell alkers can’t hear these stealth war chariots untill it’s too late.  Any bicycle without a bell should be fined. That’s if we had police doing their jobs for the safety of the community and not focusing their attention on the latest silly fashion of the addled  politicians.

Secondly a path is divided into two halves so that a cyclist passing moves over to the other side of the path when there is no one coming. A passing cyclist slows down when there is.  Repeatedly cyclists pushed walkers off the road refusing to understand the simplest principle of cycling.  They really ought to be required to do remedial walking, given the level of stupidity I saw consistently for roughly two hours.

I only saw one clearly professional older man cycling as an adult observing all the elements of cycling I could hope for,clearly conscious,  adept and the ultimate exception to the rule. His presence was like Einstein in a mentally retarded classroom..

By contrast a young man and woman who had obviously just bought the most expensive colourful cycling clown outfits and the most expensive bicycles cycled side by side between two older women standing on either side of the path. The path could barely hold  4 people abreast. One lady jumped back and shouted at the passing cycopath female. The chimpanzee girl,who’d just learned to manage two wheels upright, unlikely capable of using the brakes, terrified us all by taking one hand off the handlebars and using it to make a clever response to the older lady of showing her one finger.  I confess I interpreted the one finger réponse as normally perceived though it’s equally possible she was telling us all she only had one neutron. 

Obviously this 30 year old woman had not been diaper trained so should not have been allowed on the bike as any adult would know that forming single file is the appropriate way to cycle between adults talking across a path.  

Forming single fire simply wasn’t a skill  any of the cyclists had accomplished.  This was as far beyond their mental agility as using signal lights is for the car drivers of Vancouver.  Only a father and his two children under 10 years old showed that they could form a single file.  Three pot bellied grossly ugly Neanderthals men drove along three abreast forcing everyone to move to the side to avoid getting mowed over by the baldies.

I clocked a couple of young people doing 50 km/hour, utterly out of control with kids and dogs and old people all taking their lives in their hands going for a weekend walk. This was the normal experience with Stanley Park where cyclists routinely maim walkers and collectively refuse to have any training. The police don’t seem to fine them. Everyone downtown has stolen bicycles. It’s Vancouver. But this is Burnaby. For decades the intelligent have been leaving the city and moving away from the blue and white collar crime of the central Vancouver.  

Burnaby.  This is where genius is normally found. New Westminister is where  city began.  Now we have clowns and cretans in our midst riding bicycles. Why have they been let out of the circus. 

We might as well open the walking paths to quads and Harley’s since their drivers have more training and intelligence. 

If I’d been on my Harley Davidson 1600 cc Elecrtroglide, dressed in leathers and body armor,  without my puppy,  I’d gladly have caught up to that uncouth bitch in her pretty costume and taken her picture. Then everyone would know what syphilis of the brain looks like. But I was walking Madigan, my 9 week old puppy, with Laura the refined older lad.   I know Laura would help me bury the body but she’d had a hard work week at the clinic and wanted a wee bit of relaxation rather than grizzly entertainment. If we wanted to take our lives in our own hands and play Russian Roulette with uncouth demonic cyclists we could have gone for a walk on the downtown Vancouver sea wall. 

I hate to say it but it’s time that cyclists in BC are required to take a driving course . As a libertarian I don’t like more laws and police involvement but all these cyclists were rich in material wealth, albeit heartless and soulless with gross deficits of frontal lobe function. .  They could well afford to pay for some basic training in riding a bicycle.  I suspect Canadian cyclists collectively are unwelcome in Europe where I never saw the likes of this incompetence and stupidity.    It’s so unfortunate because I know some very fine cyclists. That one gentleman demonstrated that cyclists really can learn. I can’t help but feel the shame of cyclists who really can ride as the very idea of a cyclist is increasingly associated with ignorance and arrogance.

Madigan, Come

We are alive.  We slept through the night.  Only at 5 am did he bark to be let down.  I let him down off the couch.  He did a tour of the room. I worried what he was up to but couldn’t wake up. He returned 5 minutes later. I hoped he’d not peed or pooped anywhere too grizzly.  He actually let me sleep 3/4 of an hour.  That’s when the hair pulling and crawling across my face began.  I couldn’t stand it. I believe he  knows this puppy torture of his is effective.  I get up. The lumbering giant moves. The little dog wins. 

I go to the washroom. He pees on the carpet right beside the pee pad. I’m flummoxed. I can’t wait till this bowel training phase is over. Also the needle teeth playfulness.  

I seem to recall life after this with Gilbert. I find myself remembering my old buddy sitting with me in the truck watching the woods, taking a treat while I ate a sandwich and drank a coffee. The wise dog listening to his master discuss women and God and work.  Looking serene and wise.  I know Gilbert and Stuart and Shinto all passed through this phase of feces piss and teeth but it’s hard to believe. They were such intelligent helpful considerate companions. 

Madigan is adorable.  There’s the incredible inquisitiveness. He’s just fascinated by everything. He’s utterly enthusiastic. He’s not at all worn down by banal Neuro ratio bullies who lack insight and just goose step in fear, lemmings unable to hear Pink Floyd.  Chameleons that can’t feel Bach or the Beatles but instead seek marketing jingos from artists. If Mozart were alive today they’d use him to write commercials.  Madigan has no idea. He’s innoscent.  Maybe I once was too. Long before the ultimate defeat by lying lawyers and her multitude of minions. The sheer weight of the masses of pure evil. 

While I’m using the toilet he poops on the pee pads. Thank you Madigan.  He retrieves the yellow ball I’ve thrown several times. Woot! Woot!.  Thank you Madigan.  He’s so smart despite the devious playful evil har pulling , toe biting, and uses of farces as a passive aggressive weapon moments.  I walk gingerly back to the fearing land mines of mushy squishy.  

I’ve just woken up and I’m already a bit exhausted. My back hurts from another night on the couch.  Grinding coffee the aroma is heavenly.  I make my first espresso of the morning and return to the couch to savour the elixir.  Ethiopian coffee.  

 He’s now barking at me. It’s hard to call that comic piping sound a bark but that’s what it is.  It’s the harbinger of conversations of pure joy, the future voice of alarm.  I haven’t a clue what he wants.  I don’t know what he means but I know the tone. I’m being ordered to do something. Commanded by the little adorable pip squeak. Okay. I reach down and pick him up. And that’s what he wanted. A cuddle. Now he’s off down the couch looking for a toy to chew as I’ve again been uncooperative in offering up my fingers to his teething issues..  

I’ve noticed he’s thinking more too. He cocks his head as I talk to him. I’ve noticed now that he knows when I say ‘come’ that he’s considering coming when I call.  He’s considering that ‘word’ “come’  as something he knows.  The big guys says ‘come’ and wants me to come to him.  Should I come? What’s in it for me?

 Madigan  comes. It’s hard to imagine a drill sergeant faced with raw recruits. The sgte knows the troops want to please but don’t yet understand that commands will need to be in the ‘marrow’ of the being for the recruits to survive.   The word ‘come’ must become second nature for Madigan if he is to survive. The same with word’s like ‘no’ . As yet he sees ‘no’ as only a ‘suggestion’.   His life depends on instant responses to certain words as ‘commands’.   I’m beginning his life training. 

‘Come’ is the most important and the first of commands. 

It’s then I think of Jesus. “Come,’ he says.  

Madigan, Thursday

I would say that he is not only comfortable at his new home but rapidly taking charge. He monitors me like a Communist chinese police informer brigade. My every movement is relayed to his tiny constantly active brain.  If I do anything unusual he yelps. Indeed he yelps generally whenever I leave his side. He still needs me to pick him up and put him on the couch. I’ve closed off the bedroom because there’s too much clothing to be soiled or eaten. He likes chewing on clothing. My tshirts are already ratty enough. One carpet corner is now frayed.  Mostly he’s happy with the toys Laura brought him and left over Gilbert toys already partially chewed.  His favourite squeaky toy is me. His sharp little puppy teeth are like reptilian needles. Today he nipped the inside of my arm when I was in his zone. His zone is anywhere under the knee level.  His tails wagging constantly so he’s happy and letting me know it’s not personal, just puppy business.  Thankfully he’s okay with pee pads but poops can be a surprise. Yesterday a new location was under the sink.  Convenient for me to wash my feet off as I found his poop by stepping in it with bare feet.  Mostly he’s relieving himself by the pee pads in front of the washroom. I’ve been able to pick up and dispose of half dozen of his little poops in the toilet Good dog Madigan.

He’s begun playing with a soft little yellow ball the size of a golf ball. He throws it up in the air and chases it himself.  I just had my toe chomped and screamed.  He ran away appropriately rather than hanging on or going for another toe. I believe that’s evidence of his learning. He’d had a real thing for attacking toes as I walked a couple of days ago but yesterday I wore enclosed slippers and he changed his tactic of toppling the giant to made leaps and clinging to my pant legs or robe by his teeth.

Thankfully he sleeps a lot when I work. He does nap a lot. I enjoy that. I’m on the phone or video all day with a break for lunch when I walk him a bit out side.  He seems to need attention a couple of times in the day, my having him on my lap while I talk to people being adequate. I think he likes the voices of some people and has enjoyed seeing them on the screen. He appears to watch tv and know what’s going on. I believe he’s very smart. He has assessed all my weakness and knows how to make me obey mostly now.  Chewing on expensive Apple recharging cables is one of his tactics of ultimate command. I never know how these things I’ve put high seem to get back down to his level. They do and I’ve had to conclude he’s very sneaky.  Clever too.

Laura comes over on the weekend and I look forward to relief.  I confess I’ve taken to calling Madigan, “you little monster.”  I try to convince myself that it’s affectionate. I used this term after he shat in front of the kitchen sink where he knows I stand. Another time I affectionately called him that when he bit my toe.  I don’t know if this will do damage to his little psych and I will be paying exorbitant bills to the SPCA psychologists.  “Little monster,’ might be construed as emotional abuse.  He does look smug after he hears me say that.  The other thing if find I say repeatedly all day is “No! Madigan! No!.”  I try to have deep emotional conversations about love and relationships and God but that also seems to be the time that he bites me ‘in play’.  

I still love him.  I’ve not been as much of a mental wanker since he’s arrived. I’ve felt no despair in this Covid crisis. The loneliness is gone.  I’m quite exhausted keeping an eye on him.  Yesterday he found a nut and all I could think of is puppies who have had surgery for swallowing things. I don’t want an X-ray to show up with my keys or t v channel changer in his stomach so I’m watching him. That’s what Laura is good at. Having raised children and animals herself she’s developed a third eye in the back of her head. I feel Madigan knows that when she’s hear.  He can be sneaky with me but when she’s here he knows the mother is watching. I’m actually a little scared of her too then but I’m less on edge. 

We’re sleeping through the night.  Thats’ a relief. I’m looking forward to the peeing and pooping sorting itself out so I can get back to my bed.  I know he’d like that. To eat last night I had to put him in the kennel for the first time out. He really wouldn’t let me be. He howled in the sweet puppy voice till I finished the shepherds pie and let him out. I think that’s what the kitchen poop was about.  A warning.  This morning when I ignored the alarmed he pounced on my face and began chewing my nose. I felt it was best to get up as rolling over just meant he pulled my hair.

I tell him I love him. He shakes his tail . He can be so cute. I love watching him sleep. 

On the news Covid continues to spread. More lockdowns. Increasing police prescence.  Media censorship and constantly disinformation and fear mongering.  More despair in mental health.  Suicide and addiction rising.  National government mismanagement moderated by provincial government competence. American election corruption continues to be exposed. New vaccines are being released and distributed.  N Bios and Moderna.  There are moments of hope. The rains are upon us. Darkness in the day but promises of sunshine here and there. I pray for family and friends and am thankful for Madigan and the world we live in here, warmth, plumbing, fresh water, refridgerator, cell phone, satellite dishes and  internet. 

Madigan Rules

I continue to sleep on the couch. It’s low enough that if he falls or jumps off it’s not likely to cause harm him. He’s taken to sleeping at my feet when I’m lying. The first night it was 2 then 4 and now he’s up to 6 hours. It’s the best. I love sleep. I especially like when he’s asleep.  

He’s developed new interests.  Cables as dental floss and chew.  People a squeaky toys. Tripping people by suddenly attacking the back of the shoe. 

I’m distracted by FB where I actually argued with some one. First time in months.  I was triggered by the claim that ‘science is science’, the latest self aggrandization of the liberal position as intelligent, portraying opponents as stupid. A continue slur of ad hominem.  Identity politics claims that they are for the other but indeed it’s the most self serving of all ideologies condemning anyone who doesn’t agree. 74 million Republican voters are they’re all red necks and stupid. I’m not but I am anti totalitarianism and the ‘informer culture’ that makes everyone each other’s enemy and the State Dictatorship a malignant god.  The uncertainty of the Amercan election continue till mid December or Jan. 1.  All the corruption and fraud continues to be exposed. The Wuhan Lab Zombie Virus and the Election when the zombies rose to vote. All the dead voters are a scandal.  Meanwhile they continue to report cases and downplay the decline in deaths from Covid. I’m delighted with the advances in treatment.  The Regeneron is the latest. President Trump down with Covid then release 4 days later. In March earlier this year he’d likely have died. Now people are mostly living even those who require hospital. But so many are going to hospital believing themselves sick when a positive Covid test may well be coincidental to the psychosomatic illnesses that must be as high as 30% given the media hysteria and Nocebo.

I’m still isolating. Laura was over on the weekend. It was good not to be alone. I love Madigan the new cockapoo but I’m fearful for his health and wellness.  He’s such a going concern.  Having a second pair of eyes on he mutt was reassuring. I actually got to shower without neighbours calling the SPCA saying a dog was being killed. His tiny puppy cries and screeches are so loud.  He has accepted Laura as part of the pack though and isn’t so afraid of being abandoned with her.  

He’s right now playing his own game with a ball, tossing it in the air. He’s so very smart.  I noticed a bad smell in the pile of clutter, but superficially wasn’t able to find any surprises. He’s peeing on the pee pads with one accident on the stairs. I must get that special spray that covers up their scent so they don’t return to where they’ve had an accident.t He pooped twice yesterday but today hasn’t pooped this morning. He waits to come inside after a walk and poop in the warm on his pee pad.  I’ve got to work at home later and I really don’t know how he’s going to handle my being distracted.  I’m increasingly being considered less master and more the servant. My little dog in his mind is becoming the big dog. Chewing on my hands I’m guessing he’s testing for dominance.  I am glad for my close toed slippers. His needle like puppy teeth were wrecking havoc on my toes. 

He is cute.  Really adorable  I just wished I had a more puppy proof place. When I took Gilbert to the office as a puppy I had a play pen and Aim would hold him in a sling when she worked and take him for walks when he got bored. Aim is a professor now with two hairless babies having cut her teeth on the hair Gilbert who thought her his personal servant. We all laughed to see him dragging Aim about the neighbour hood on walks.  He was such a strong little guy.  Madigan is moving throug the stages.  Quickly he’s come to rule this home.  

Communist China continues to war on the west with propaganda and lies. Nefarious schemes.  It continues to persecute Buddhists and Christians and gulag them pulse the Muslim northern tribes.  Millions murdered and still their minions demonize the west in an all out assault on traditional society with it’s freedom. Right now, given Covid and the Davos 2030 and World Economic Forum, ‘RESET”, which Trudeau celebrates, having learned a new word and remembered it, is spreading like the virus itself.  As a libertarian I watch freedoms disappear. Free speech is totally constricted by Canadian liberals.  Comics are sued so no one dares joke for fear of offending the powerful and elite Trudeau government. Freedom speech is further constrained by whatever Trudeau considers Hate and the left now considers anything that is not ‘left’ hate.  Woke culture, the zombies raises from the dead, speaking in unison.  A Greek Chorus for the Roman colosseum.  Freedom of congregation has been stopped too.  Lockdowns kill more than Covid. Mental illness is on the rise. Deaths from overdose and paranoia, marital dischord, alcoholism and pot use, all government taxed and rising.  

We had Door Dash, White Spot Delivery.  The latest home service.  Laura and I love White Spot.  Madigan even got a taste of halibut and loved it.  I barbecued chicken in the evening one day. I’d made bacon sandwiches for breakfast.  We are doing well but the future is highly uncertain. I’m just concerned about this little vulnerable ball of fur.  It was good having Laura here helping. She’d been Gilbert’s mommy while he was alive and they adored each other.  

Now I’m thankful I’m still able to work and stay solvent. So many of my patients are going through life savings and declaring bankruptcies.  Businesses taking years to build are falling. Hopes and dreams dashed.

I’m looking forward to my nephew returning from England in a few weeks.  I feel he and his partner will be safer here.  The world seems so much like the 30’s on the brink of chaos. But then there were the Vietnam years when the Animals sang Eve of Destruction and we thought we’d all be conscripted. Best to continue hopefully.  I dreamed the Communist Chinese were attacking. It was a variation on the Cold War nightmare where the Communist Russians were coming across the lawn and my brother and father were defending my mother. I had a patient arrested delusional who thought the Communist Chinese and Liberals were trying to break into his home to inject him with Covid and a micro chip.  

I’m looking forward to a vaccine. I’m so impressed with the scientific progress with the red tape and bureaucracies sidelined for this ‘warp speed’ solution.  They call it ‘warp speed’ but it’s really just what occurred back in polio and insulin days because the industries of bureaucratic parasites entered into the mess claiming they are the real saviours off the world, like all the masses of paper work necessary to build a building in the city.  Progress would never have been possible it seems with all the regulators and informers.

Then there’s Space X. In this very atmosphere I question, Astranauts have gone to the Space Station and a Moon Station and a Mars colony are in the works. I’m so excited by that. My brother Ron loved Tesla and if he had lived it was his dream to own a Tesla car.  Now friends have them. Moore’s law and all that. 

God is good all of the time.  

The little guy has given me a new lease on life. I was drifting to despair. Losing focus.  I felt like I was putting in time, realized how much I missed looking forward to the ballet and symphony, how I enjoyed planning trips and taking Laura overseas.  I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed seeing family. Now I am great uncle and god father and haven’t been able to hug the new ones.  I miss all that.  Living in a Ghost Town. The abortion, war, euthanasia, zombie virus, zombie voters are creepy like death.  Now I’ve a bundle of enthusiasm and life careening about my feet excited by every novelty.  It’s hard to be jaded with a puppy angel in one’s midst.

Thank you Jesus for your gifts of life. Thank God.

Madigan, Puppy Cockapoo

Madigan was born Sept. 14, 2020.  He was born in South Alberta.  Martha denDekker has been raising Cockapoos for 7 years.  The denDecker’s have a cattle ranch.  

Because of Covid everyone was buying small dogs. Being home allowed them to care for puppies and with nothing left to do for entertainment everyone was walking dogs. 

Gilbert my former cockapoo and I saw all the new dogs join the dog walks and paths before he died of his heart disease.  He died in his sleep and left me the message that he was at Rainbow Bridge in heaven, 

« I’m   running for miles through golden fields.  I have endless energy.  I can  see blue sky for miles.  Your dad is  throwing the yellow ball for me  to fetch. »

  My life with Gilbert was so full and he was such a great companion. I thought to wait to buy another dog but with Covid and working from home I too had the time for a puppy. The future was so uncertain. Having a puppy and raising one is such  major commitment.  

I’d had to find opportunities in my life and schedule for the three dogs I’ve had as an adult.  Normally I have a cat too but the cats had died of old age in the previous year and not been replaced yet.  Frankly I was lonely.  My home and heart were empty without Gilbert.  A month after he passed I began looking for another cockapoo and was quite shocked that breeders were telling me their litters were spoken for till next spring or summer.  Laura told me her friend Drew had been unable to find a golden retriever for six months since their beloved Bertie had died early this year. Her sister had also lost her ducktoller and had spent months trying to find another.  Thankfully Martha, when I called her, told me she had two boys left.  

Her ad was from Chilliwack and from southern Alberta so I worried it was a scam. Still I money transferred the down payment and actually enjoyed the interaction with her.  I looked her up on Facebook too and explored the Van Decker records on the family in southern Alberta. I did some due diligence but mostly trusted in the Lord. I prayed a lot. . I’d felt guided to my previous dogs and cats, a spiritual connection.  The same occurred here. 

I was so excited with anticipation.  Laura was too.  She’d been Gilbert’s mommy and was about to have another fur baby come into my life.  She was crossing her fingers and praying. She’s a mother and grandmother and has had her share of fur babies over the years.  Gilbert loved her. 

The day came.  Martha called to say she’d be in Chilliwack on Nov. 19 and we could meet at Tim Horton’s on Young Road in the afternoo.  I was overjoyed.  

With Covid and lock down’s and isolation and the devastation the disease and response has had on the mentally ill, work, virtual on video and phone ,has been so stressful and disheartening. I’d become a bit mad realizing Gilbert had been a major reason to live. I knew that everyone else had someone, even Laura who is closest to me, and my family, but Gilbert had truly needed me and loved me as only a dog can love.  I loved to have the reason and purpose in my life again so I could stand in face of the daily despair I heard and offer hope. I’ve always been a provider and protector and taken joy in it. As funny as it seems, I’d felt this role was being eroded by the new consumer culture, identity politics, anti Christian, anti male, anti family anti tradition government policies.     Except with my dog.  With Gilbert I felt needed me,  as his provider and protector.  Especially blind when he became blind and his heart disease slowed him down. We’d hunted together for years and been best buddies. He had my back and I had hist. This was a symbiotic relationships.  

Dogs or humans, no one is sure which, became domesticated more than 15000 years ago. There is a grave with a woman and her puppy dating from 15000 years ago but it’s expected dogs and humans lived and worked together for thousands of years before that.    Gilbert alerted me to danger and despite his diminutive size his heart and courage were huge. He was afraid in many situations I got us into but he was never going to leave my side.

My cousin Wayne, a logger, trucker, breeder of apaloosa ponies, builder of log houses, had visitted with his cockapoo decades again.  That was the first cockapoo  I’d seen.  I always admired Wayne and his judgement so Gilbert had come into my life. Now my retired academic sister in law Adell and my psychologist nephew Alan have Eva, the first Hay family female cockapoo. Graeme my other nephew the engineer , nuclear physicist, cinematographer and astronomer has Pepper another female cockapoo. When my brother was alive and I visitted them at Hay Bay it was such a joy to see the three cockapoos running together in front of the house.  Walks with three dogs was such an adventure.  

Martha arrived right on time at Tim Horton’s on Young Road. Her handsome clean cut smart looking man was driving.  She, a very beautiful young lady, had this adorable little black and white dog sitting bolt upright on her lap. That was my first sighting of this little fur baby.  Martha was delightful. She handed me the little guy with food and papers and took the money I’d brought.  I was overjoyed because frankly until I saw her warm and open face I’d feared disappointment.  No more.  I took the little ball of squirmy into my hands and hugged him to my chest. He looked up at me with his beautiful brown eyes then licked my chin with his little red tongue.  I loved that.  I put him on the seat in the truck and climbed in as Martha and her beau drove away.  

I believe Martha has family in Chilliwack so was able to bring the dog from southern Alberta. She’d told me she would call me if the weather or Covid restrictions made the journey difficult.  All went well. 

Now I sat in the truck with this bundle of black and white silky haired wonderfulness on my lap.  My old and scarred  heart  opened with joy, tears coming to my eyes as I looked with love on God’s creation. All the joy I had known with Gilbert and the dogs before flooded through me as I looked at this tiny new roommate putting all his trust in me and hoping for the best. 

It was a bit of a problem trying to convince him that for me to drive he had to be in the kennel. He screamed so loudly at that that I was distracted from driving so immediately pulled over and opened the gate.  First round to the cockapoo. I was being trained. He cuddled down at my side on the seat his wet little black nose against my thigh.  I had hoped to visit friends myself in Chilliwack but it was all I could do to get him home. I stopped at the rest stop and let him run about on the lawn  with the leaves. He peed and then brought me a leaf he caught. He was just too adorable.  

I’d talked about calling him Chinook because he was a warm wind into my life.  But when I called him that it didn’t seem to fit. I thought of my Irish mother and wondered what dog was in Gaelic. I’d begun studying Gaelic again this year.  So home with this bundle of joy on the couch beside me I looked up Gaelic for dog. Madra is a big dog like a mastiff. Madigan is west Ireland Gaelic for ‘little dog’, historically used as a boy’s name and today used by boys and girls.  I loved the name and felt my mother approved. Madigan looked up when I called him that, giving me that look that said, ‘it took you a while’.  I asked Laura and she loved it right off. Laura and I had  been to Galway together and been enchanted with that musical mystical place vowing to return.  So Madigan it was.

Madigan Hay is officially part of the Hay family. I let Adell and the nephews  know.  They’d have to tell the girl cockapoos. Laura was already planning to come the next day. I was about to spend a night up with a new puppy, worried about what he would chew, where he would pee and poop, whether he would live.  I feared it would be like a night on call at the hospital back when I delivered babies and sat up nights at a times, watching over babies with meningitis, heart disease, fever and whopping cough.   

As it was he actually slept  2 hours at a time then 4 hours in the wee hours. In the morning I woke to the light. It hadn’t been like a night on call. Rather I felt like I’d had a night at sea solo sailing in the ocean. I’d had to be on watch. I checked his breathing several times through the night.  I worried about everything that could go wrong just as I did at sea. But all was well. 

The new room mate has  too modes. « Nasgar puppy » running all around at high speed, and then Nap Puppy, out like a light.  I caught him about to piddle on the blanket and put him on the pee pad. It was the only lesson he needed being lifted piddling. It shocked him this being lifted up mid stream. He did’t want that to happen again so already is peeing and pooping on the pads. He’s just so smart. He loves to go for walks running full speed ahead on his little puppy legs his belly in all the puddles then lagging behind and getting tangled in the big leash.  He is so interested in everything, exploring under trees , looking and sniffing at anything new ,stopping at any  sounds. It’s a wonder to watch him and see what he sees. 

Madigan Hay.  Thank you Lord for bringing this wonderful baby into my life. He’s already accepted Laura and loves having his belly tickled.  Together we are now a pack and he’s pretty happy with the new digs. My new room mate is a character.  He has so much personality for someone so little.  I love him. Madigan Hay.

 

New Day, Waiting for Puppy

I am not doing well without a dog. Gilbert was such a good dog. He got me out in the morning. I loved our walks. I was always having to go outside so he could pee. He and I were buddies.  Parallel lives in the same place. Me reading books. Him chewing sticks.  Together we’d eat a chicken or he’d beg bits of my steak. We’d travel in the truck together, him watching everything and just enjoying the ride. I would enjoy so much more because the simple pleasures made him happy and I saw how jaded I’d become. Life without him is just not as full and animated.  

I’ve a new puppy coming.  Gilbert and I talked and he said ti was okay for me to get another dog because he was sorry to have left me.  I was afraid alone. Gilbert was my alarm system. He also sensed people and I knew if he liked someone I would probably like them too. When he didn’t like someone it was important to pay attention.  I thought I have the time now with Covid and working at home to train a puppy. The first months are demanding.  

Now this week it’s all I’m thinking of.  May as well be the Messiah coming or any baby.  I’m in anticipation mode and a little afraid.  I worry so much about the little ones, fearing I’ll miss them eating something not good for them, running off leash in front of a car, not paying enough attention so they become neurotic.  I have raised several dogs but more often they raise me. I’m not very pleased with myself as a human. I’ve skills and done great things but in the day to day life of basic living I’ve fallen short.  I look around at my friends who’ve children and large friendship networks, social folk who maintain all these connections. Well, I’m just happy with a dog. I’ve got work that has me intensely involved with people and I live in a police state where any word I speak can cause me horrible pain.  I’ve been traumatized repeatedly and brutalized by authorities acting on behalf of psychopaths and criminals. Gilbert got me out of myself, forced me to constantly reflect on gratitude. I was so blessed with my little cockapoo. Now  another is coming. He’ll remind me life is worth living despite the constant abuse from the banal ‘lick and kick’ folk above. He’ll love me poor or rich.  He’ll be a companion when all else forsake me. I’ve divorced women who were full of empty promises and perfectionism.  Now with a dog, I’m okay. I’ve thought of having a sex change because men are so demonized in our society.  I’d just like to be a Klinger in Mash. I’m old and weary of the war. I’ve protected countless people from the abuse. I’ve placed myself repeatedly in the middle, a peacemaker and healer. Now I’m just exhausted. Gilbert used to curl up beside me shoving his little bum up against me. Just wanting the contact and I’d stop crying. Miraculously I’d see he needed me and that was okay.  Condemned by self serving authorities and elite arrogant low brows I’d find Gilbert there reminding me that a walk or just sitting by the river was better than being in my office. He’d get me out of myself. I’d realize I was self pitying again and catastrophising and life is good just throwing ball. I’d throw ball and it would get better. 

Now I’ve a new guy to get to know to find out what his likes and dislikes are and to learn his games and his curious ways as he’s checking me out.

I’m waiting for a puppy.  It’s a big deal.  A new family member.  A room mate. A play friend.  A responsibility.  Someone to care for.