trick or treat

Halloween was never big in our household, even when I was a child. Subsequently, I didn't subject the Buckster to costumes, except for the obligatory reindeer antlers at Christmas, but they didn't stay on long enough for a picture. Typically, he didn't care for much adornment and preferred to run around happy, free and naked. I tried to test a bell on him, with the premise that it would stop ringing when he was on point. He seemed so forlorn with the idea, after putting it on, he walked away slowly with his head down and, for whatever reason of physics, he was able to walk without the bell sounding. The last thing I tried was a dog backpack, which he wore only once afield, but I'll post more about that in the future.

Although I don't have any pics of the Buckster at Halloween, here he is knocking at the door in a similar "trick-or-treat" scenario. He sometimes had to be coerced back inside the house with treats, otherwise he would continue to play or eventually - if he stayed out long enough - be tempted to escape by squeezing under the lattice screen below the floor level of the house (the house was elevated on a post and pier foundation). Periodically, he'd come up to the door, check to see if a treat was on it's way or, if not, he'd turn around and go back down the stair. Finally, when the treat was offered, he'd come bounding back, full of enthusiasm. Soon enough, he learned that the more times he went out (or pretended he needed to go out), the greater the chance of getting more treats.

As you can see by the mud on his chin in this picture, he was beginning to lean towards "trick" instead of "treat".

SBtv

Over the years, there was a surprising variety of fauna that made their home, albeit temporarily, near the old Kane`ohe house, presumably because it abutted a sizable tract of wetlands that was left, for the most part, unattended. Wild pigs, escaped cows, field mice, mongoose and good number of birds (java finches, doves, Kentucky cardinals, white vented shamas, chickens, pheasants and a peahen) came through at one time or another.

The chickens came down while the H3 Freeway was being built, to escape the noise and heavy equipment. One rooster spent evenings in a small tree immediately outside of the bathroom. If one were to use the bathroom at night and turn on the light, the rooster would crow tentatively until the light went out again. On, crow. Off, stop. On, crow. Off, stop.

To make things interesting for Starbuck, I set up a bird feeder for the finches. Once filled, a large flock of finches would swoop in and raid the feeder in a piranha-like frenzy, until it was depleted. Their voracity made me wonder how they were surviving prior to finding the feeder. Starbuck would sit by the jalousie window and peer through the wood slats, watching with great intensity until the feeding was over. Sometimes, he'd start shaking with excitement (or was it his try at mind control, like "Men Who Stare at Goats"?).

The pheasant family (hen and two chicks) came later, and picked up the feed that was carelessly strewn about during the morning’s feeding frenzy. The hen was wounded and was missing a foot, presumably from a cat attack. She was always wary and managed to keep track of the chicks. She knew Starbuck was lurking in the shadows (I think by his heavy breathing) but nothing to get overly excited about – only a voyeur and not a predator.

The peahen also presumably came down from the hills due to the H3 construction. She was fairly regular in her routine: feed in the morning, wander around the neighborhood and then come back for the evening. At precisely 4:00p each day (unless there were predators playing basketball in the cul de sac), she would start to walk up the driveway of my flag lot, hop on the fence and then hop on the roof. She would then proceed to walk across the roof, up to the ridge and then down to the opposite eave. From there, she would push off and fly into a nearby tree.

Starbuck was usually doing something else but when he heard her footsteps on the roof (and, yes, quite audible), he would stop, look up and follow the sound. From his vantage point, he couldn’t quite see her reach the tree so it was always a sound of mystery. I'm not sure he connected the sound with the peahen he watched, as if on an Outdoor Channel feature, in the mornings.

photo ops and reshoots

After Starbuck's passing, I tried to sort through all of his pictures - compiling them with some sense of order, scanning those that pre-dated our first digital camera. Just looking at the file names - from MVC* to DSC* to P* to L* - the Buckster outlasted many a camera in their race toward higher resolution. Today, I gawked at a friend's Nikon D90 and its pictures, reminded again of how far digital technology has come.

It took a long time to catalog the pictures as, invariably, I was sidetracked by the memories that were embedded in those pictures, each coming to life upon sight. It's a cliché, but true, that "a picture is worth a thousand words" and the words stitch together the spaces between the photographs. Those spaces were often more cherished than the photographs themselves but the photographs help us to find the words.

In the Buckster's case, a good photograph was hard to come by. Unless he was sleeping, there was rarely a moment when he was absolutely still. The picture attached to this post was taken one Christmas, after the typical present opening. Here he is with his dog biscuit shaped like dim sum, a Chinese breakfast/lunch dumpling. Starbuck was always overjoyed when he got a new, never-before-seen treat, incapable of hiding his emotions; he would give Snuffles the Dog a run for his money.

As a result, there are many pictures like this: a stationary treat and a blurry dog head. Some only have the treat, as by the time the shutter activated, he rolled out of the frame. And, others still only have his tail, if he decided to usher the treat to a place safe from paparazzi.

In future posts, I'd like to upload photographs like this, that express the multitude of raw emotions dogs share with us, though many more can be found between the stitches.

crossing time zones

Once routines like eating, sleeping and playing were initially established, the young Starbuck quickly set his internal alarms. Without fail, the internal alarm mechanism was able to remember important daily activities for the Buckster, within a few minutes of the official time standard.

The external alarm mechanism, his non-stop barking, only went off if no one else in the vicinity (me) was attuned to the system and was, therefore, late. There was no "snooze" function on the external alarm system and the only way to appease it was to accomplish the scheduled event. If, by chance, the event occurred earlier than scheduled, there was no apparent objection to a crinkle in the time-space continuum.

As the Buckster aged, his internal alarm became less reliable. Breakfast, originally at 6:00 am, could be anywhere from 3:00 to 6:00 am. Dinners, originally at 6:00 pm, ranged from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm with 3:00 pm being the preferred time. You often hear jokes about our geriatric parents starting to eat breakfast the night before and I guess dogs must not be too different. He starting living in Pacific Standard Time.

As the alarms became more erratic and the response not as immediate (especially at 3:00 am), the Buckster had to invent new methods to effect the desired result. Here are a few of the newer methods:

• Barking 1" away from my ear
• Jumping up on the bed, sniffing my ear to see if it was still working, jumping down. Repeat until the desired effect is achieved 
• If an extraneous limb protruded beyond the imaginary vertical plane of the bed, support the limb in his mouth

These were all fine with me. It could have been much worse. My ex had a cat that used to squeeze my head between her claws like a melon and then bite me on the crown of my head at 5:00 am to get breakfast going.

in the name of dog

I was often asked if Starbuck the Dog was named after Captain Ahab's first mate, Battlestar Gallactica's fighter pilot or Starbucks Coffee. Most guessed, due to my propensity to be found with a cup of the fine brew, Starbucks Coffee was the inspiration. However, he was born and named a couple years before Starbucks Coffee became a household word for us.

Starbucks Ice Cream, which was a grocery item well in advance of their first flagship cafe here, definitely was already a household word and used liberally in conversations whenever possible.

******

At first, I thought maybe something was wrong with Starbuck. As a puppy, he'd run with abandon throughout the house, always anxious to check every room for new activity (or not). Then, all of a sudden, he'd fall asleep mid-stride, legs akimbo in every direction imaginable. Invariably, he'd later subconsciously retract into a familiar sleeping ball shape. A few minutes later, just as abruptly, he would arise full of energy again - as if nothing happened. This pattern would continue until he tired of running around and took a strategic sedentary position, somewhere he could see me but I couldn't see him.

Aside from the worry that he might maim himself or that a narcoleptic bird-dog may not be appropriate or safe afield, he was amusing to watch. It seemed that he knew when a bout of sleep was coming and he struggled to fight it off, seeing as running around got a lot of attention and was way too much fun. But sleep is merciless and succumb he did. At least for five minutes.

The pattern of run-sleep-run-sleep seemed to be fairly consistent: 10 minutes running, 5 minutes sleeping, with the transition happening in a blink. After watching the pattern and becoming one with the tempo, I figured I could open the freezer, take out the ice cream, sit down and wolf down a couple of spoonfuls and then pack it out by the end of minute 4. My mistake was not eating it while standing in the kitchen.

No sooner than I sat down on the sofa and opened the cover, the dormant Starbuck roused back to life. It happened so fast I'm not sure if it was the sound of the cover opening or the scent of cream. Rather than arising straight up first, he lunged at an angle as he started to stand, his legs already knowing which way to take him. As the ice cream was Java chip, all I could do was hold him off at the crown of his head with the stiff arm technique and cradle the ice cream like a football on the side away from him: 0-0 tie (well, no, I snuck in after he was down for the evening).

Hence, his name became "Punahele Starbuck". "Punahele" (meaning "my favorite" in Hawaiian) after his mother, Punahele Nani Girl, and "Starbuck" after his lineage to ice cream.

hello and welcome

About 2 months ago, I had to put down my dog and it has been - by far - the hardest of life's experiences to bear.  My mind hasn't yet fully reconciled or accepted his loss and I often forget that he is no longer physically around as I can still sense his presence or expect to see him lying around the corner, ready to play pranks.

The purpose of this blog is not to linger on the sadness of his loss but to remember the special attributes of his personality, the funny occurences and the lessons offered by dogs.  Also, his passing has taken me on a search for greater meaning with the hope of better understanding the animals among us. Chances are, these posts will generally not be chronological but more a stream-of-consciousness meandering of thought.


I would love to hear your experiences as well, so please feel free to comment.