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In no way related to business, leadership, or ethics


This is Loki (nee Berkley). He’s a rescue dog that I’m “testing” for the next couple days. I actually stalked him online for a few weeks about a month ago, when I was still too heartbroken to adopt, but was looking at the rescue sites. By the time I got the nerve to ask about him, he was gone. But lo and behold, he re-appeared this week, and I put an application on him.

It’s been a strange thing. I’m still mourning Simon, a lot. Having a new pup around reminds me of how close we were. But I think I will sad be for a long time, new dog or no. There’s no replacement for him, and it will take a long time to build a bond with a dog like I had with Simon after 10 years. He was one of a kind.

But this little dude is a total character, in a very different way. He’s very timid, was probably not socialized much at all. He’s pretty jumpy, but loves affection and is great on a leash. After just the afternoon he’s chilled out quite a bit. David and I are enjoying him so far. He has mastered the fine art of pathetic cuteness, thus earning the nickname, His Royal Patheticness. So far he’s also Bat Ears, and The Half-Blood Prince.

At first I thought about calling him Yogi, because when I was doing yoga I got into bridge pose, and he inserted himself under my lower back, like a yoga prop.

Noise wise, he hasn’t made a peep so far. I’ll be posting regular updates for all the crazy dog people (you know who you are).

I’m not settled on the name yet, so if you have suggestions feel free to let me know.


As I mentioned a couple posts ago, I lost my beloved little dog Simon a week ago last Saturday. He was eleven and a half years old, as far as I know, and he was a corgi-american esquimo mix, as far as I know. I adopted him when he was about a year and a half in April of 1997, so we spent a little more than ten years together. He was my constant companion, through road trips to California, to life-changing cross-country moves, unemployment, over-employment, bad boyfriends, good boyfriends, Simon was always with me.

He was a funny little dog, my brother still refers to him as the gerbil. He was one of those dogs whose behaviors are more “foxy” or even cat-like. He was affectionate and sweet, but very self-contained. If was in trouble he wouldn’t slink or show submission, he’d just kind of eyeball me. As soon as I broke eye contact, he’d be right back to jumping around in circles. I though I’d mastered the art of repressing, but Simon had it all over me. Simon was a really good dog though, so there wasn’t much cause for yelling. Other than occasional trashcan dumping or kleenex chewing, he was amazingly low maintenance. But he was really good company.

I always had a clear impression that Simon thought he was much larger, and much more butch and masculine dog than the reality (a precious little fluffy girl dog). He loved to romp with big dogs, and despised being picked up. He enjoyed a good cat-barking-at, although he did get his ass seriously kicked by one once. After that, he kept his distance for the barking. Once, we were coming up the stairs in my apartment building, and there was a cat lurking on the other side of the rail. Simon darted around to chase it, but when it didn’t retreat, he came back around to the other side of the rail and barked at it through the bars. That was my Simon.

We spent our first summer together at my parents house while my boyfriend at the time was away on an internship. My parents had just gotten Amber, a sumo-big golden retriever puppy. While she lumbered around, Simon would dart in and out, baring his teeth and sneezing ferociously. Yes, sneezing. It was one of those things. Amber would generally respond by drooling all over him, leading to Shaun’s next nickname for him, “Slime-on”.

I have hundreds of stories, all of which are utterly entertaining and riveting to me, and maybe a select few other insane dog people. But here’s the gist. Simon was a light in my life when everything else was dark, or worse, when it was utterly cold and gray. And he was there with me sharing my joy when I was happy and content. He never ran out of love, or silliness, or affection. I wish I had given him a fraction of what he gave me, and I would do anything to have back all the moments when I took him for granted.

I think one of the great tragedies of death is the surplus of love we’re left with. When you really love someone, it doesn’t matter that they’re not there anymore to receive it. So I’m left with all this unspent love for my little companion, and it just aches. Beyond the shock of losing him so quickly, beyond the daily pain of having to re-learn how sit at my computer without him pressed against my leg, or lie in shavasana after yoga without him lying next to me licking my arm, or putting on my tennis shoes without him going apeshit because it means there’s a remote possibility that he’s getting a walk, there’s just this irrational, impossible desire to have him back long enough to give him some of the vast amounts of love that will forever remain unspent.

Be at peace, petite chien. You are loved.

Brief Update

The last couple of weeks have been pretty intense, so most of my philosophizing has been going on off line. In short, my dog Simon passed away last weekend, and I quit my job this week. Both rather life-changing events. One necessitates much weeping, the other much scouring of on and off line publications for gainful employment.

I don’t have the heart or strength yet to write a fitting tribute to my little dog. He was an awesome dog, I miss him all the time, and I’ll leave it at that for now. Peace.

Further Adventures of Cone-Dog

Simon loves to play with/chew/bury and unbury rawhide bones. With the cone, this presents all sorts of new possibilities. The whole point of the cone is to keep him from being able to reach his front foot with his mouth. So grabbing things involves positioning them in such a way that they are sandwiched between the cone and the floor. When he tried to playfully grab his grungy rawhide bone this evening, he ended up chasing it all over the living room – every time he grabbed for it, the cone would push it underneath him or away from him. He did eventually manage to secure it, but as soon as he dropped it, it started all over again. David learned an interesting trick – place the bone inside the cone, but as far to the side as possible and watch Simon manuver his head around until he can reach it. Tomorrow I’m going to try it with doggie treats.

One moment of sadness, sometimes his ears itch, and he can’t reach them, so he scrabbles his paws helplessly against the cone. I try to scratch his ears whenever I remember.

In general Simon’s spirits are much improved, and the paw is improving, though I think it will need a few more days before Simon can be cone-free.

The Sad Saga of Simon

Don’t you love alliteration?

Simon has been through some trauma lately, and as a result he’s confined to a cervical collar, or head-cone for a week. It’s very sad, but the comedic potential is endless.

Tonight I took Simon for a walk for the first time since the advent of the cone. Normally he gets really excited and grabs the leash in his mouth and pulls me towards the door. This time he was forced to jump up in the air in order to grab the leash through the cone, but missed repeatedly. On the walk, he ran into trees and bushes with his cone when he’d try to sniff them before marking. Around the house he usually follows at my feet, occasionally nudging me with his nose. Now I know he’s there when I’m gouged repeatedly in the calf by the sharp plastic edge. It’s kind of like having a little plastic robot dog, like in the original Battlestar Galactica. Simon usually curls up in the corner right outside our bedroom after we go to bed. Last night he kept slamming into the wall and whimpering.

Light a candle for my brave little dog, and maybe I’ll post more pictures