Category Archives: pet therapy

Duke taught me a thing or two (or ten)!

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My life is better because Duke was part of it.

Ten things Duke taught me:

10. Live in the moment. Seize each day and live well. Duke was the master of living in the moment. He was very mindful of everything and everyone around him

9. Napping is important. Duke loved his naps. He took short naps and then a long nap to recover from the short ones. He knew a short snooze in the middle of the day was just the thing to keep you going.

8. Routines are essential. Healthy habits are good for you and the environment. Duke loved the excitement of going out but he really was a creature of habit. He loved his bed, his backyard and his stuffed toys. He was always glad to be home.

7. Be excited about the little things in life! Duke knew how to greet the unexpected visitor (think UPS man or raccoon) as well as a loved one.

6. Be patient. Duke knew the value of patience and the patient dog always got that last crumb!

5. Exercise every day. Walk everywhere! Even when he was hurting, Duke was always ready for a walk, albeit a short one. Miss those walks so much!

4. Go outside and enjoy the fresh air. Even during the summer heat, Duke loved being outside and the best part was coming inside to cool off on the tile floor. Ah, the small things

3. Sun bathe daily, in moderation, of course! A perfect spring day or a sunny fall morning was Duke’s favorite times to be outside. Like Goldilocks he didn’t like it too warm or too cold.

2. Be one-pointed. Give your one-pointed attention to every task, whether cooking, cleaning or looking at your Facebook page! Duke gave his full attention to whatever he was doing whether sniffing a blade of grass or eating his Parmesan-laced dog food.

1. Death is part of life. This was the most important lesson Duke taught me through his own personal example. Even when he suspected the end was near, he had only affection and trust for all of us. We were his family and he was happy to be in our company. His death has left me heart-broken but I admired the way he approached the end of his life with such dignity and grace. He lived his life with honor and died with canine elegance and poise.

 

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Filed under Death, Death of a pet, dog's life, dogs and pups, Dogs are family, final journey, harmony, losing a pet, Personal experience, pet therapy, Uncategorized

Duke 2009-2018

 

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March 2018

He was not a perfect dog, by any means, but he was the ideal pet for our family. He came to us as a 5-pound roly-poly puppy and clawed his way into our hearts and home. His recent death has left a gaping 88-pound hole in our collective hearts.

We knew his failings and came to love them. His quirks were many: his love of freshly grated Parmesan, his ongoing feud with the two fat raccoons who lived in the storm drain near our house, his insistence of sniffing each blade of grass for long minutes before raising his leg, his wariness of silly sounds like the crunch of a twig underfoot and his unrelenting begging for that last piece of cookie. He had habits we found endearing too. His love of wrapped presents, trips to Putah Creek, the joy of endless sunbathing in our backyard and his devotion to his many stuffed animals.

We loved Duke because he had the knack of making each member of our family feel as if he/she was the center of his universe. He gave us undivided, focused attention. He was the ultimate actor, assuming a different role when he interacted with each of us.

He was my youngest son’s playmate, his best bud and best friend. The Klein family story goes that when the boys and their dad went to pick out a puppy from a litter of Redbone Coonhounds, they all noticed the smallest one, but were leaning toward taking home one of the larger athletic puppies. Until…my son looked down and saw the small puppy sitting on his shoes. Apparently Duke picked us! How lucky we were.

Duke was my oldest son’s faithful companion, the one who took him for his first training sessions. Duke loved my son’s pickup truck almost as much as my son.  It was hard for Duke to watch my son drive off to college but he gave him a warm welcome every time he visited.

Even before we knew my son’s then-girlfriend would become his wife, Duke welcomed her into our family. He recognized goodness and beauty when he saw it. He enjoyed the long petting sessions he had with her. His final petting session with her gave him so much joy.   I’m lucky to have such a compassionate daughter-in-law.

My husband was Duke’s boss, his main man and his true “dad.” They bonded over hours and hours of walking. Every walk, even the one two days before his death, was a joy to Duke. Duke may have missed saying a final good-bye to my husband but that day they spent together was the perfect farewell.

That leaves me as his cook, chauffeur, constant companion, groomer, evening walker and general dogsbody (pun intended). For the past three years we have been together almost 24 hours a day. His wise brown eyes were always following my every move.  He sat at my feet as I wrote each day (or attempted to) and I know he is watching me right now, wondering what was on the computer screen that was making me sob so uncontrollably.

I know Duke depended on me for everything: from opening the door (a hundred times a day), to filling his water dish, to taking care of all his needs and so it made complete sense he would depend on me to make the final decision of his life. It was incredibly hard to do (especially since my husband was away), but I did because I knew Duke would want my help to ease his pain and discomfort. After all, that had been my job for the past nine years and I couldn’t quit now.

Being a word geek I, of course, turned to stories and poems to help deal with his overwhelming loss. I hope you don’t mind if I share them with you.

The first is a story from Hindu mythology about a king and his love for his dog. The other is a poem that dispelled any doubts I had about what I had to do to help him on his final journey.

So honor Duke’s memory and go show some love to your pet, eat a vegetarian (vegan) meal, hug your vet!

The Story of Yudishstra and his dog

According to the great Hindu epic the Mahabharata, the five Pandava brothers had finished winning back their kingdom and were now on their final journey. Yudishstra, the eldest Pandava, led the way up a mountain, followed by Bheema, Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadeva and their common wife Draupadi. A dog also accompanied them.

Along the way, one by one the brothers and Draupadi fall down and die. Finally only Yudishstra and his dog were left and they continued to the top of the mountain where he was greeted by the god Indra. Indra welcomed him to enter his chariot to ascend to heaven. Yudishstra and his dog started to climb into the chariot but Indra stopped them, saying the dog was not welcome. But the king was adamant that the dog accompany him.

“That is impossible,” Indra said. “All cannot attain heaven. The dog is old and thin and has no value.”

According to one version of this story, Yudishstra replied, “In that case, I do not want to go to heaven. The dog was my faithful companion on earth and I cannot abandon him now. It sought my help and gave me unconditional love. The pleasures of heaven mean nothing in comparison to the grief of losing my beloved companion.”

Even though Indra pleaded with the king, Yudishstra stood firm until the god relented.

 

The Last Battle

 If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can’t be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.

 

We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn’t want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.

 

I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don’t grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We’ve been so close — we two — these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.

 

— Unknown

 

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Filed under dog's life, dogs and pups, family, final journey, losing a pet, meatless, Personal experience, pet therapy, poetry, UCD Vet Hospital, Uncategorized

My Best to you!

Scan_20171221December 2017

The past year was filled with many joyous moments! My son’s wedding in July was definitely a high point. It was wonderful to welcome his smart and beautiful wife into our family. The wedding was also a chance to renew our friendship with our relatives and make some new friends too. I also had a brief but affectionate visit with my sister. This summer I felt honored to be part of my favorite aunt’s 96th birthday celebration. Every time I see her I marvel at her grace, wisdom and amazing capacity to love. There were a few rejection letters to temper all my joy.  But there were some acceptances too. I had a short story published in an online magazine, and had several poems accepted into two different anthologies. I was also invited to become a book reviewer for The New York Journal of Books. So all in all it was a great year!

My holiday gift to you is a short story published several years ago in an anthology titled The Dog with An Old Soul. The story features my mom and her dog, two of my favorite subjects.

The Dog Who Wouldn’t Bark

Meera Klein

The black-and-white photo was old and yellowing, but I could clearly make out the proud stance of the dog and his mistress. I could barely make out the words penciled on the back of the fading photograph:  “Leela and Chuppa, 1951.” My mother and her beloved dog.

The cool mist swirled around Leela and smothered her in its wet embrace. She shivered and wrapped the woolen shawl more tightly around her slender body. The late November days in Kotagiri were chilly and dismal, nothing like the warm tropical nights she was used to. Leela’s sigh sounded loud in the gray silence as she paused to take a deep whiff of the fading jasmine blooms on the vine by the front gate. It was then she heard the sound, the tiniest whimper, which she would have missed if the world hadn’t been so silent. She reached up and unlatched the metal gate and stepped onto the patch of grass. In the dim twilight she could make out a small bundle lying on the wilted jacaranda blooms. When she looked closely, she saw it was a tiny shivering puppy. She couldn’t bear to leave it there on the side of the road. She relatched the gate and walked into the kitchen using the side entrance.

The kitchen was warm and cozy. Her mother, Ammalu, was seated on a small wooden stool in front of the hearth, stirring a pot of lentil stew. The sharp scent of cumin mingled with the wet puppy smell. Ammalu wrinkled her nose.

“What do you have there?” she asked, getting up to take a closer look at the black-and-tan bundle in Leela’s arms.

“Oh, Amma,” Leela wailed. “Look what someone dropped off at our front gate.”

The puppy seemed to know it as being inspected and opened its tiny jaws and yawned, stretching out a minuscule pink tongue.

“Not everyone has your kind heart, my daughter,” Ammalu sighed. “Remember what our neighbor Sister Mary told us?”

Leela nodded and held the puppy closer to her chest. Their nearest neighbor, an Anglo-Indian everyone called Sister Mary, lived a few miles down the road and was a feisty animal lover.

“Be warned. Villagers get rid of their unwanted pets by dropping them off at the bungalows in the middle of the night. Most of us are only too happy to take in these dogs and cats. It’s a shame, though, because not everyone wants a stray and that is the end of the poor animal,” she lamented.

This will not happen to this little one, Leela silently vowed. Mother and daughter dried the puppy and fed the hungry creature some rice gruel. Soon the little dog was curled up on a pile of rags in front of a warm hearth.

The next morning Ammalu mixed a little rice and vegetable broth in a beautiful ceramic pan decorated with deep purple flowers and urged the little puppy to eat out of the fancy bowl.

“Amma, why are you using such a nice dish for the dog?” Leela protested.

“Leela, you know I don’t like to use these tainted containers.”

The tainted containers Ammalu was referring to were part of a collection of dinnerware left behind by the previous owner. After the declaration of independence in 1947, many British decided to leave India rather than live in a country no longer ruled by Great Britain. Rather than pack up an entire household, some of them left many things behind. One such Englishman was the owner of the charming bungalow that was now Leela’s home on the outskirts of the remote hill station town of Kotagiri nestled among the famous Blue Mountains or Nilgiris.

When they moved into the charming red-tiled house in late 1948, they found the musty rooms filled with large pieces of wooden furniture. The cabinet doors were inlaid with ceramic tile in beautiful geometric patterns. An intricate carved folding screen in one of the three bedrooms provided privacy and beauty. The dining room boasted a large china buffet, complete with silver soup tureens, round and oval serving platers, big serving bowls and a tea set. The delicate moss-green tea set, made of the finest bone china, would never be used, though. Like most upper-caste Indians, Ammalu’s family was vegetarian. They had no intention of eating and drinking from vessels used by strangers and non-vegetarians.  At the first opportunity Ammalu invited friends, neighbors and acquaintances from surrounding areas to come chose from the lovely Spode plates and Wedgwood dinnerware. So the puppy happily ate off the Spode chinaware and drank from his Wedgwood saucer.

The German shepherd turned out to be the most patient of animals. He waited for Leela or Ammalu to get up each morning to let him out. He would wander around the front yard, sniffing at rosebushes and lifting his leg against the spindly poinsettia tree. He would then come back to lie on the kitchen floor, his bright blue eyes following Leela’s every movement.

“He really is the most silent dog,” a friend remarked to Leela. That was when she came up with the perfect name for her new pet, Chuppa, or “the silent one.”

She tried out the new name, calling, “Chuppa!” Immediately the puppy sat up, straight and proud. He cocked his head and looked at Leela as if waiting for a command. From then on Leela spent countless hours with the young dog, teaching him simple commands. Chuppa was an intelligent pup and wanted to please Leela. He became the young girl’s constant companion. He would greet her joyously, albeit silently, every afternoon when she returned from school. He draped his long tan-and-black body across Leela’s doorway. The pair was a common sight as they went on long walks among the tea bushes and apple and pear orchards.

One evening, when Ammalu made a teasing gesture toward Leela, pretending to hit her, Chuppa immediately sat up and stare at Ammalu and emitted a soft warning growl.

“Chuppa thinks I was going to hit you!” Ammalu exclaimed. “What a good dog. Don’t worry, Chuppa, I would never hit my girl.”

Ammalu bent down and petted the agitated pup, who settled down, his head resting on his folded paws, as if he understood Ammalu’s words.

Leela decided to teach the dog commands to make sure he would know when the threat was real and when a family member was just playing. The dog took to the lessons as if he was a sponge soaking up spilled water.

Two years later Chuppa was a full-grown German shepherd with thick black-and-tan fur and bright blue eyes. He was a familiar sight in the little village and allowed young children to pet and fuss over him. But his soft eyes were always on Leela.

A few months later, their postman, the deliverer of news and mail, had some disturbing gossip. “Did you hear about the thefts?” he asked Ammalu and Leela one afternoon. “There has been a rash of thefts in the area and residents area asked to keep their gates locked.”

That following spring Ammalu and Unny, Leela’s older brother, had to make one final trip to their ancestral village to take care of some business, and Ammalu was not happy to leave Leela.

“Don’t worry, Amma. Chuppa will keep me company at night, and during the day Mala and her husband will be here,” Leela assured her mother.

Mala and Lingam were local villagers who came to help Leela’s family with household chores. Ammalu and Unny were expected to be gone for about five days, and after giving Mala and Lingam many instructions about the household and Leela’s personal safety, they finally left.

That evening Leela made sure all the doors were locked before retiring to the living room. A fire in the hearth made the room snug and comfortable. Chuppa settled down in front of the fire and Leela curled up on the sofa with a Sherlock Holmes mystery.

“Why didn’t the dog bark?” she murmured to herself.

Chuppa glanced up with a questioning look in his blue eyes.

“Don’t mind me, Chuppa. I’m just talking about the clue in this story,” she assured her pet, who sighed and went back to staring at the golden flames.

The crackling fire was the only sound in the room and Leela found herself drifting off. Chuppa’s low growl woke her up.

“Shh…Chuppa. It’s just the fire.”

But the dog didn’t settle down; instead he stood up and looked toward the front hallway. The coarse hairs on his neck were standing up and his body was tense and alert. Leela was alarmed at the dog’s stance and got up to stand in the living room doorway. She was as tense as Chuppa and tried to hear what had disturbed the dog.

Then she heard it, the slightest grating of metal as the front gate was opened. Chuppa growled beside her. She put a hand on his head, wondering what to do.

“Is anyone home?” a woman’s voice called out from the front stoop. Leela knew whoever was there had probably seen the warm glow of the light through the living room window, even though the cloth curtains were drawn shut.

Leela took a deep breath and walked into the dark hallway. She turned on the porch light and lifted up the curtain to peer through the front window. She could make out the figure of a woman and a man standing on the porch steps. The woman raised a slim hand and knocked on the wooden door. Leela looked back at Chuppa and gestured for him to stand behind her. The dog obediently went into the hallway, where he was hidden in the shadows behind his mistress.

Even though she dreaded opening the door, Leela decided it was better than waiting for the couple to perhaps break the glass and force their way in. She pulled the door open and peered out.

“Who are you, and why are you knocking on my door at this time of the night.”

The woman laughed, a sound that was nervous and at the same time somehow threatening. “Sister, we are just poor pilgrims on our way to the temple on the hill. Can you spare us a hot drink or a few paisas?”

“I’m sorry, but my hearth is out for the night and I have no change. Perhaps you can find hospitality farther down the road.” Leela said.

“Listen here, sister,” the man snarled, pushing the woman aside. “We are not asking for a few paisa like beggars. We are demanding you hand over your necklace, earrings and anything else of value you have in the house. I don’t make idle threats.” As he spoke, he pulled out a knife, the blade glinting in the overhead porch light.

“I don’t like threats. I suggest you leave,” Leela said, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt.

The man answered by pushing the door aside and taking a step to come inside. A deep rumble from the hallway stopped him in mid-stride.

“Chuppa, come here,” Leela called out to her faithful companion, who came to stand beside her. He bared his teeth and gave out a menacing growl. The couple stared at the German shepherd.

“Now, I suggest you leave before my dog gets impatient,” Leela said to the couple.

The man hissed in anger. “A dumb animal isn’t going to stop me,” he said in a low tone as he stepped toward Leela, his knife raised.

“Chuppa, get the knife,” Leela ordered in a firm voice.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the dog leaped and grabbed the man’s hand. The knife clattered to the ground. The man yelped in surprise. Leela quickly kicked the knife out of his reach. The dog let go of the man’s hand waited for his next command.

“Good dog. Now get him,” Leela said.

Again the dog leaped and, using his full weight, brought the man down. Chuppa placed a heavy paw on the man’s chest and bared his teeth. The woman cried out, and dog looked at her with his soft eyes and pulled back his lips to show his sharp white teeth.

“Call off your dog,” the woman cried. “We meant no harm.”

The silence was broken by a murmur of voices.

“Miss Leela, are you all right?” a voice asked from the driveway. It was Lingam. He was carrying a smoky homemade torch in his hand. Behind him were several villagers.

“Lingam! I am so glad to see you,” Leela called and sighed in relief. “Chuppa caught a man who was threatening me.”

Lingam walked up to the porch steps and looked down at the figure on the ground.

“These look like the couple who have been robbing houses,” he announced. “We heard they were out tonight, and came by to check on you.  But it looks like you can take care of yourself.”  His white teeth flashed as he grinned at Leela.

“It was Chuppa who saved the day,” Leela said. “Chuppa let him go.”

The German shepherd looked down at the man and growled again before moving slowly off him. The animal went to stand beside Leela, looking up at her with adoration shining from his bright blue eyes.

Leela bent down and hugged the dog. She buried her face in his doggy fur. “Thank you, Chuppa,” she whispered.

“Woof.” Chuppa’s bark was short and soft. Leela laughed out loud. That was the one and only time Chuppa ever barked.

For years the dog was my mother’s faithful companion in Kotagiri. When he died of old age, my mother was heartbroken. Chuppa was the last pet she ever owned.,

 

 

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Filed under Blue Mountains, garden, mother's kitchen, my mother's kitche, new traditions, Nilgiris, Personal experience, pet therapy, Uncategorized

Mindfulness and slowing down

February 2016

I was reminded of the importance of “mindful eating and cooking” at a recent event. Both Slow Food Sacramento and Sacramento Food Co-op Chef Adam advocate this philosophy.

Slow Food Sacramento has a worthy mission of wanting to provide good, clean and fair food for all.  At the same event Chef Adam advised guests to use their hands, put away electronic devices and be mindful while cooking.

Being mindful of not only eating but paying attention to every aspect of life is something we should all try to do. We let our electronic devices control us and so we end up doing more than one thing at a time. This multi-tasking can lead to an unfocused life which in turn leads to stress.

I was fortunate to have someone very wise in my life who always urged me to “slow down and take my time.” This meant doing one thing at a time, being mindful of every action. It was not easy to follow this great advice. When I was a reporter in a busy newsroom, I was expected to do more than one thing. Later on motherhood meant multi-tasking in another way. It was hard to do just one thing at a time when there was so much to be done. However I did learn that teens responded better to undivided attention and one-pointed listening. Life on an elementary campus was not conducive to doing just one thing at a time either.

But now that I stay home I have the time to be more mindful. I begin my day early so that I can enjoy a quiet cup of hot tea and not feel rushed.  My dog, Duke, is a great at doing just one thing at a time. When he eats, all his concentration is on his food. When he goes for a walk and stops to sniff a blade of grass, he takes his time and doesn’t move until he is done.

Most afternoons he quietly (and persistently) insists on me joining him outside. Instead of being annoyed by his loving request, I put aside my work and go out into the fresh air. My hound and I sit together in silence, listening to the birds and buzzing bees. During this time I let my mind slow down and soon my breathing and my body quieten down. I look forward to these moments of mindfulness now. I find all my senses are alert after my afternoon session with therapist Duke. A cool glass of lemon water is refreshing and enjoyable. Cooking our evening meal is a pleasurable task that I take my time doing.  I am more focused at an evening exercise class. Being in the moment helps me relax and get ready for bed.

I urge you to try a moment of mindfulness every day and reap the benefits and if you have a four-footed therapist to enjoy the moment with, so much the better.

A programming note:  Please tune (or set your DVR) to Channel 31 on Friday, March 18. At 9 a.m. I will join Good Morning Sacramento host Tina Macuha to demonstrate how to make Aviyal stew and to promote my book.

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Filed under Indian food, media, mindfulness, pet therapy, Sacramento Food Co-op, Sacramento Slow Food, South India, television, Uncategorized