The Zen of Mr. BoJindo Sitting

Tomorrow, Friday, May 21, 2010, my beautiful daughter Nia will participate, fully capped and gowned, at Irvine Valley College's graduation ceremonies and will come away with an AS in Computer Management Information Systems.  During the time she completed the course requirement she ran a business, moved from Orange County to Northern California, qualified for her local Search and Rescue group in El Dorado county, earned several computer networking certifications and attended to the daily demands of official pack leader to the mysterious Mr. BoJindo (a Korean Jindo dog, regarded as a national treasure in Korea).  

Yesterday, Nia left Mr. BoJindo with me so I could care for him while she takes care of last minutes details.  It's one of those things I'm glad to do, not just because I love this dog, but because it's something I can do in support of Nia's efforts.  Now she can take a day or two to celebrate her achievement in public, in front of strangers and friends and me.  Mr. BoJindo won't be there and that's a shame because he's a major force of comfort, direction, distraction and discipline in her life.  He's been part of Nia's journey since 2002. 

Mr. BoJindo is an exceptionally beautiful, incredibly smart dog, rarely barks, doesn't jump up on people or the furniture and can hold his pee for 24 hours.  Despite this seemingly perfect dog, he has "rescue-dog" issues.  What ever happened before Nia rescued him from a looming date with a needle, left a scar of fear in his dog-soul that we've never been able to help him overcome. He's a much more secure dog now than when Nia first got him but certain electronic sounds -- like microwave beeps -- still result in an immediate full-body fear-freakout attack of shaking and adrenaline-induced canine escape.  The first time I left him alone in my apartment I returned two hours later to a half eaten couch.  Some sound had freaked him while I was gone and he tried as hard as he could to escape the apartment by clawing at the back door then clawing and biting at the couch which blocked a possible window escape route.  He's done much more damage in reaction to his fear -- the entire back seat of Nia's convertible has been re-decorated by Mr. BoJindo -- in that she no longer has a back seat.  He's run away many times -- once in Runyon Canyon -- but he's always returned (although it looked like he had a dispute with a coyote when he returned from the Runyon Canyon romp).
Nia takes him almost everywhere, including vigorous hiking treks, attired in his red doggy backpack.    

There's a tinge of resentment when Nia says her life has revolved around this dog -- not something she expected or wanted when she accepted the responsibility of being a rescue-dog owner -- annoyed at the memory of having to find him when he ran away, or having to teach him how to socialize with other dogs or having her car vandalized, but she never betrayed the bond that developed in Mr. BoJindo when he looked to her for his welfare.  She could have returned him to the shelter.  She could have found someone else to take him. Instead she chose to become the human Mr. BoJindo needed so this one creature could have a good life. 

Nia has been cause in the matter of Mr. BoJindo's transformation from an insecure, nervous canine who didn't seem to know how to wag his tail, to a more secure, serene, trusting companion capable of teaching -- in the way dogs teach -- us to be better humans.  Now he does a happy dance when Nia returns from some errand or puts her shoes on to take him for a walk. He actually spins in circles, snorts, jumps up in the air and twists around in one fluid movement, the whole time wagging his tail in the widest possible arc.  I want to video tape the greeting -- he only does it for her -- because if his expression isn't one of pure joy, then there is no such thing.  He has become her rescuer too.  Through lonely times, financial hardship, threatening events, exhaustion, his presence in her life created demands and discipline that made her look outside herself, that indirectly demanded she was capable of giving, of achieving, of enduring just a bit more.  In return Nia got to experience being a loving, committed, tender, powerful leader -- responsible for a life depending on and waiting for her.
With every challenge, every effort, every achievement in her life, I am ever more profoundly proud of Nia -- but the person she is today, she couldn't have become without Mr. BoJindo. 
Sacramento State has accepted Nia for the Fall semester.  I'm giddy at the notion she'll go on to complete her Bachelor's degree -- maybe even pursue a graduate degree.  I don't know.  What ever she decides to do, I know she'll do well.  For her loved ones, tomorrow's ceremony is for celebration of what she's achieved so far.  Nia's name will be called and her loved ones will rise to applaud, hoot and holler in support and appreciation.  But one loved one will not be in the bleachers.  Mr. BoJindo will spend that time at a  PetSmart Doggy Hotel for a few hours because there are no accommodations at the school for four-legged friends no matter how vital to the measure of one's character, education and achievement.  

Post script:Mr. BoJindo did not stay at a doggy hotel after all.  Instead he stayed in the car (windows rolled down and plenty of water available) in the school's parking lot. Since the event was held out doors it was easy to check on him several times to make sure he was okay.  When the ceremony was over, we got Mr. BoJindo out of the car and both graduate and companion could enjoy the occasion. 

In the Name of Love

Today I accompanied a friend who had to take her long-time companion, Missy, a golden-eyed, gentle black cat, to the vet to be put to sleep. It is never an easy trip. It is the hardest task we are expected to complete in the name of love for our pet companions. A week or so ago I'd offered to go with my friend so she wouldn't have to endure that sad trip with Missy alone. It wasn't an altruistic offer -- I wanted to say goodbye to Missy as well as help my friend. I knew it would be a difficult goodbye, but it was harder for me than I expected. It always surprises me how much love and happiness these little furry creatures give as they accompany us through the best and worst of life. Missy helped my friend get through law school and pass the bar the first time. She helped by just being there, to hold, to pet, to shoo off homework scattered on the floor and to offer my friend a break from the rigors of law. It seems, pound-for-pound our pets express more love, contentment, joy and in-the-momentness in their shorter lives than we highly evolved humans extend in several of their lifetimes. It's been suggested that our pets teach us how to be better humans. It's certainly been true for me. A great deal of credit for how I value life and love is due to the dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters, goldfish and guinea pigs for whom I've been privileged to care. Then there are the creatures, like Missy, whose life I merely criss-crossed. Nevertheless, she had important things to teach me -- trusting strangers, dealing with change, regal poses and the simple joy of laying on a pillow by a window watching the world's wonders every day as if for the first time. Missy was 19 and had what most would say was a good life. But Missy gave a good life too. She was a beautiful, calm, gentle feline who always made me smile when I saw her. I loved petting her -- couldn't wait to touch her velvet fur. What ever worries or road-rage I brought with me through the door, melted with one look at her sweet face. She loved being petted and she showed her appreciation with a BIG purr. I suspect everyone who met Missy fell in love with her. It couldn't be avoided. She would just sit there, on her pillow by the window, appearing to do nothing -- all the while reeling in your heart like a helpless hooked catfish. I mourn you Missy. I'll never forget you. Big tears roll down my face for you but my heart is bigger for having found a place in it for you. Thank you Missy for all you gave this passer-by.

Birth Daze

March 9th was the second anniversary of my 30th birthday.  It's also the 147th anniversary of the battle of Monitor and Marrimac, but I seriously digress. The "surprise" birthday bash was undoubtedly the best, most unforgettable birthday ever -- and I should know, I've had my share of birthdays.  Despite my intention to take lots of photos, I took exactly none.  However, my dear friend and expert photo-taker, Elena, took many with her high-fallutin'-multi-fangled-photo-makin' contraption (apparently, I'm suddenly channeling an old prospector from a Bugs Bunny cartoon) all of which she posted on Flickr and her blog (scroll down a ways because she posts every day and I am not yet similarly organized).  We had FUN of the most excellent variety.  I don't ever want to know what it's like to be friendless.  As all who attended can attest, my friends have given much to my life.  My friends -- don't make me single you out -- have been examples of grace, tenacity, courage, serenity, love, joy, achievement, patience, tenderness and have given me a shoulder of two for my tears, encouragement for my attempts to make them laugh, wise advice, earnest hugs, total forgiveness -- well, Friendship.  If my friends were converted to currency, I'd be at the top of the "Forbes" list of Richest Women in the World.  Oh yah, I would!  Thank you from the core of my heart Nia, Vern, Hadassa, Phil, Elena, Taylor, Ramy, Steve V., Bob, Steve E., Marjorie, Tony, MikeMichelle, Tina, Marianne, Sophie and Mr. BoJindo!