How to Raise a Jewish Dog, the Rabbis of the Boca Raton Theological Seminary as told to Ellis Weiner and Barbara Davilman.

From the chapter Training and Obedience:

Examples of Advanced Commands:

“Don’t stare at cousin Edith’s hair when she comes over.”

“Don’t mention the breakup.”

“I’m cold.  Put on a sweater.”  (taken from my mother’s book of commands)

“You don’t have to call him doctor.  It’s just a PhD… In Media Studies.”

“I don’t know how she lives with him.  Tell me, how does she live with him?”

I had this dream last night that it was WWII and we were invaded by the Germans, here on American soil.  German soldiers came to our house and we hid from them, with Jake, of course.  I recognized the German officer in charge.  He was the same officer who had appeared at my house during WWI (this is a dream, remember, so time is immaterial) and he’d taken my other German shepherd, Louie.

When he found our hiding place, I yelled at him that he wasn’t taking Jake.  And furthermore, I demanded he give Louie back.

He replied, “Louie is a great dog, the best dog I’ve ever had.  I’m not giving him back.”  And he strolled out of the room.

Jake and I chased him down.  I wanted Louie back so bad.

I woke up, didn’t understand at first, then I realized it’s the two-year anniversary of Louie’s death.

Here’s the thing about German shepherds, they occupy an entirely different plane of dogdom.  They’re like people wearing hairy suits.

We had Rosie, our golden retriever, and she was an amazing dog, maybe the best dog ever, but Rosie was a dog dog.  Louie was different, Jake is different, and so was my family’s dog, Boaz, a German shepherd/collie mix.  They aren’t dog dogs.  They’re people dogs.

Jake’s not Louie, Jake is Jake.  When he was a puppy, he channeled Louie – I could see the occasional flash of Louie’s consciousness in his eyes, but now he’s just plain Jake, his own unique person.  Thank god I have Jake, but I wish I could have Louie back too.

Louie

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My daughter gave me a gift today, a gift guaranteed to make me dissolve into a puddle of tears – Love You Forever, written by Robert Munsch and illustrated by Sheila McGraw.  I don’t even need to open the book.  One glance at the cover and I’m a goner.  It’s like reading Charlotte’s Web or listening to Joni Mitchell sing The Circle Game or watching the movie, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.

I may be tough, but I’m not that tough. When it comes to those I love, I love them with all my heart.

Life is fragile and fleeting.  As my father says– We are less than a speck of dust  on a speck of dust on a speck of dust, ad infinitum, in the wake of God’s footsteps.

People come and people go, but like the book says, Love You Forever.  Okay, I’m going to start crying all over again.

I wanted one thing out of life, one single thing, to be a mother.  I’m a mother times three.  And for that great gift, I’m humbled.  

On a lighter note – Ya’ll remember the movie, Parenthood, with Steve Martin?  I was raising three little kids when that movie came out and it was amazing how much the movie resembled our life.  My kids were a little younger, but…

Even this scene was straight out of our life– it happened a number of years later, except picture my husband in Steve Martin’s place and the game was basketball.  My husband coached our daughter’s underdog basketball team and they beat the undefeated previous year’s city champs in the championship game.  My kids still talk about how my husband did this:

We parents are a bit meshuggeh.

Happy Mother’s Day! Love, Julia

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Man-Dog Basketball, the Real Deal.

Hubby scores 1 point by hitting a shot from 10 feet or more.

Jake scores 1 point by:

- rebounding a missed shot
- stealing the ball
- forcing hubby to dribble out of bounds
- if a rebound goes off hubby and out of bounds or into a wall
- if the ball goes out of bounds and Jake is able to dribble it into the grass
- if hubby miss 2 consecutive shots and for every consecutive shot after that if Jake has a toy in his mouth (if his mouth is empty he doesn’t score on missed shots)

We play first to 15, have to win by 2.
**Biting is grounds for immediate forfeit and possible suspension.

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Tuckered out after a big game.

German shepherds are bred to be rule-followers.  Jake, being more of the Loki type, is not as strict as his predecessor, Louie, was.  With Louie a rule was a rule was a rule and nobody broke team on his watch.

Of course, Louie wasn’t allowed to play basketball because he was forever guilty of major injury-causing over-the-back fouls, hurling himself into the air for rebounds without regard to his safety, and he popped basketballs with regularity with his cast iron teeth.  The basketball court is riddled with Louie’s remnants, which Jake, creative tool-using primate/dog hybrid that he is, makes good use of.

Jake, on the other hand, plays a gentleman’s game, at least with me.  He never commits an over-the-back foul, and he only goes up in the air if he knows he can land balanced on his back legs.  (He catches the ball with his front legs and drops it to the ground.)

So, basketball rules according to Jake the German shepherd:

1.  Mom is a better shooter than dad (heh-heh), but mom is a girl so I play less aggressively.

2.  If mom swishes the ball, she gets to continue to shoot until she either banks it off the backboard or misses and then all bets are off.  I have carte blanche to steal, dribble, and body-up to my doggie heart’s content.

3.  When mom whines– C’mon Jake, you’re a ball hog– I pass her the ball.

4.  If mom is a ball-hog, I drop the popped basketball I’m carrying (which I use as an extra appendage) and fly through the lane, knock the ball from her hands with my nose and dribble rings around her, making her look a fool.

5.  The wall and the fence are a dog’s best friend.  I play the carom perfectly. (It’s like indoor soccer.  Ever played?)

6.  My favorite part of the game?  When the ball bounces over the barricade and out of the court.  I get to dribble around the yard, mom chasing after me, until I decide it’s time to take the ball back to the court.  I graciously let her toss it back over the barricade.

7.  Playing with dad?  Now that’s a whole other ballgame.  I don’t pull any punches.  We get it on, man.  No holds barred.  Street ball.  Down and dirty.  This game is not for wienie dogs.  It’s for the big dogs.  Be warned, Lucy!

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Fresh mango, sliced, sprinkled with hot chili flakes.  Oh.  Yeah.

What else did I want to say?  I actually attempted to organize my thoughts this week and I made a list of blog topics.  Of course I am well-known for making lists and never, ever looking at them.  The same way I carry an appointment book, write down my appointments and then never, ever look at my appointment book and thus miss many appointments.  I’m much better off relying upon my memory engrams.

Found my list, which says:

2 tsp. vanilla

2 1/2 sticks butter

ear worms – check

cats – check

clown doll –  Oh My God No!

Parenthood

Post poem

Experience as a… what?  Can’t read my own writing.

Small world

Ah, I choose Small World!  Not the Disney version.

I’ll keep this short and sweet.  As you know, my husband and I only recently reunited.  Like two ships passing in the night, first I was away for 8 days and then the day before I arrived home, he left town for 10 days.  We barely spoke the entire time– my cell phone wouldn’t work in the wilds of Maine while he spent most of his trip attending lectures.  But we did text back and forth and I was reminded just how small this world really is.

Case in point – I come from a rural community in Iowa.  My high school class was pretty dysfunctional (you can include me in that category) and whenever anyone asks me why I don’t attend high school reunions I answer, “Because everyone is either in prison or dead.”  I wish I could say that’s a flat out lie, but it isn’t.  Oh, it’s a bit of an exaggeration, there are a few of us survivors, battered and bloody, and none of us keep in touch.  Apparently my husband does, keep in touch with my old classmates, that is.

While he was up in Minnesota, he helped his brother – a veterinarian – at a free rabies vaccination clinic.  Assisting with vaccinations was the sister-in-law of my second best high school friend (my very best friend having died young, as you will recall).  So my husband texted me about a million times, catching me up on my friend’s life since I last saw her, which was when we each had a three-year old and a newborn.

I told my husband to give her sister-in-law my email address just in case, but my friend hasn’t contacted me.  I didn’t expect her to.  But it is interesting, this six degrees of separation.  What’s even more interesting is that her name had popped into my head just the week before.

Yup, small world… check!

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