Thirsty Dogs

Thirsty Dog in the Park

            While walking through the park one late summer morning I came upon a young man

and his dog. It was a large fluffy rust colored dog resembling a retriever. The dog stood on his

hind legs with his front paws plopped on top of a concrete water fountain. With his right

hand the young man patiently pushed the fountain button allowing the cool water to gently

cascade into his cupped left hand. The dog eagerly lapped the water from his owner’s cupped

hand. It surprised me that the dog had such a powerful thirst so early in the morning with the

 temperature at a comfortable sixty degrees. More than anything though, I admired the kind

devotion this young man displayed for his lovable pooch.

French Bulldog Aboard the N.Y. Ferry

            I witnessed a somewhat related situation a few days earlier while riding the N.Y. Ferry

 from Astoria to Wall Street. My wife, son, and I sat on the port side of the boat’s enclosed main

deck across from another young man, this one with a cute little French bulldog which he held

on a leash. We could not help affectionately laughing at this solidly built little canine with his

round bowling ball head, bat like ears, black marble eyes, pushed in pug nose, and shapely

jowls. The tuckered-out dog sat prone in the aisle panting profusely with his tongue dangling

out of his of his mouth to one side.

            The heat or exertion had clearly gotten to him although it was not a severely hot or

humid day. We were actually in the middle of a comfortable spell of early September weather.

Perhaps he had just finished a long walk or run in the sun getting to the ferry.    

            I have heard that bulldogs and other breed s with similar features do not handle hot

humid weather very well. Those cute comical traits may delight us, but they also create

breathing difficulties which become particularly pronounced when temperatures and humidity

rise.

            After a while we noticed that the dog had transferred out of the aisle and was now

 under his master’s seat gleefully lapping up the water provided him in one of those collapsible

bowls that dog owners carry these days. After finishing his drink, the little French bulldog was

no longer panting. We felt better knowing he was doing okay.

Steven T.

Oct. 2019

A Blue Sneaker II

It Began with a Blue Sneaker

Two separate experiences on the car ride home from the city:

My eight year old grand niece’s:

Look. Look. A blue sneaker all alone Look, there in the gutter. That’s funny. A river with a fountain spray right in the middle. Wow.   What? A big white mattress leaning up against the fence. Right in the middle of traffic. What’s going on here? A huge round building with lots and lots of stores inside. Unbelievable. Then all those of crazy signs with names I‘ve never seen. And I can read them out loud.  I can shout them out loud. I can sing them out loud. Yay. Something interesting for the boring adults in the car. This has turned into a great ride. Too bad I’m so squished back here. I love Aunt Marsha, but can’t wait till she gets out so I can breathe again . .Ahhh, that’s better. She’s dropped me off at home. Byeee!

Mine:

On the way home from the city, my grandniece’s enthusiasm grew exponentially. Every new sight brought gasps of excitement, giggles and pointed fingers jabbing the air. This was her game to keep from getting bored on the way home. Her father, my nephew had squeezed me into the car, so I wouldn’t have to take the subway home. My poor eardrums were stressed by my niece’s screams of delight. But my being was astounded by her amazement at all the sights. She picked out one detail after the next to be excited about. For me, these same buildings and landmarks had become humdrum markers of our progress home. Where had my moments of discovery gone? When had I lost that child-like enthusiasm for life’s minutia? Maybe the child could teach the adult to regain that delight in the everyday details and the magic of the mundane tasks.

Marsha H.

Sept 19, 2019

A Blue Sneaker

A single blue sneaker lay in the street. We spied it soon after we turned the corner onto 88th Street and Amsterdam. It was parked between the curb and a car tire.  Like the sedan, it was forsaken at a sharp angle. Unlike the automobile, it was not purposefully placed there. It looked like a relative of single sneaker, sucked off the foot of a victim, at the scene of a hit-and- run I had seen on the news clip last evening. It looked just like the sneaker someone had run out of, escaping a mass shooting a few weeks ago.  Or the odd ash-covered sneaker that survived the fall of the World Trade Towers.

  

I cleared the hoary thoughts from my head. The sneaker had a story, but it was probably an accidental and innocuous one. A student might have overstuffed an unzipped backpack, and one gym shoe toppled onto the sidewalk, then rolled into the street. Maybe a mischievous teen threw his friend’s sneaker into the street. Then and they both ran after each other, laughing down the street, the sneaker forgotten and the pursuit paramount. Perhaps the owner of the car might come back tomorrow to move the car for alternate side of the street parking. As he moves around the car, he might notice that his sneaker had escaped while he was unloading groceries from the trunk the night before.  Sneaker recovered!  If not, a not so happy ending. The lost sneaker will be brushed into innards of the street sweeper truck and disgorged in the city dump’s sneaker burial ground. And there we are. Another New York sneaker story.

Marsha H.

Sept 17, 2019

MY SUFI BOWL

How to fill an empty bowl with offerings? I finally concluded that I had to attempt to fill my own bowl, otherwise it would remain empty. My contributions clunked into the bowl.  There was pleasure, but there was also the dull l echo of a chunk hitting the cold, hard surface of the metal vessel. The flowers I bought myself were fine and offered visual and sensory pleasure, but they did not fill the room or my heart.

Then I discovered that when I brought people into my life, they were disposed to ply the bowl with a plentitude of gifts. There was the friend I met for dinner and a jazz piano concert, who listened carefully and actively as I described my awful 2 hour commute to Mt. Sinai to visit my old friend. Her husband made it sound as if the doctors couldn’t fix her and she would die incapacitated, losing her mental abilities. When I finally got to the hospital, frustrated and tired, she had been transferred to a nursing home just an hour before. I thought I’d never see her again. After calming myself for a few minutes, I rushed out of the hospital to meet another friend for dinner. He was so kind. He listened quietly and actively. He paid for dinner, and then walked protectively beside me to the venue where we had tickets to a jazz piano concert. Even though I disliked the performance, I treasured my friend for his sensitivity and the flower of friendship he tossed in my bowl. Another friend made me feel special the following week when we shared dinner and attended a string and wind concert. Another flower in the bowl. My art teacher spent generous time with me to help transform my submission for the next art show. More blossoms. Two friends each invited me to the second night of the Rosh Hashanah celebrations, knowing that I usually spend the second night at my old friend’s home and this year she was too sick. Two more sprigs. One after another friends placed flowers of fellowship in the bowl. It’s a lovely floral arrangement. Now an ensuing echo resounds with rich, deep jewel tones, just when I thought it would remain an empty bowl.

Marsha H.

Sept. 2019

Visit to a Distant Cousin

My visits to the zoo always included a trip to the Ape House. The large muscular primates so similar to us in many ways, but so superior to us physically were always a conundrum to me. I gravitated to the Chimpanzees and Bonobos, our nearest living relatives with over 99% shared DNA. They were  most eerie. Like staring into our own distant past, their actions mimicked our own especially when one young adolescent male annoyed the alpha male, sensed his anger and then submissively retreated. How quickly emotion had almost turned to violence, not unlike an exchange I had seen on the subway an hour before. Our thin veneer of civilization was momentarily revealed for what it is. Chimpanzees were certainly capable of killing each other in the heat of battle between tribes, but the systematic long term planning and evil machinations that humans are capable of far surpassed their level of violence.

Suddenly the old male chimp came over and sat down opposite me. Apparently he had been taught sign language as he started to sign to me. It had been many years but I still remembered having learned sign in college.

“Well I see that you have come to gloat over my incarceration and your freedom,” signed the old chimp.

I responded that I found him fascinating but did not gloat over his captivity.

“Well Mister Top of the Food Chain,” he continued. “I guess that you are very pleased with yourself.”

I responded that I had a good life.

“Yes Mister Pinnacle of Creation, I’m sure you do,” was his response.

At this point, I felt the rumblings of hunger and pulled out a zip lock bag containing green veggies, sliced apples, orange wedges, carrots, and a banana. The old primate seemed unimpressed and not desirous of my fare. I looked over Fred’s shoulder – which had turned out to be his name – at his food bowl that consisted of green vegetables, sliced apples, orange wedges, carrots and a banana. No wonder he was unmoved; we each had the same epicurean delights. Fred had no choice and I required this diet for health reasons.

“So I see that you are eating the same slop I am,” he signed.

I answered in the affirmative.

At this point the gibbons in a nearby enclosure started a ruckus. Fred peered their way with a look of disgust.

“My apologies for the neighbors,” he signed. “they are a blight on the neighborhood.”

“Don’t give it a thought,” was my response.

“You are polite for a captor, but I must point out that on the first of the month I do not need to run and hide if the head zookeeper happens to pass by. In addition, there are no co-pays or deductibles on my medical coverage. I do not need to concern myself with gas or electric bills and car payments or credit card balances do not enter my consciousness. I live behind steel bars of your making while you live behind financial bars constructed by yourself!”

Before leaving, he left me with one more gesture universally understood by all New Yorkers without studying sign. At this point Fred sauntered away in disgust to rejoin his family. I was in shock at this erudite summary of the human condition. I left the zoo somewhat dejected with my tail between my legs (so to speak), needing to get to the Post Office for the mailing of some overdue bills.

Jim

Sept. 2019