Carol Lea Benjamin

Two Peas in a Pod

If you have more than one dog, you might always keep them together.  You might feed them in the same room, brush them at the same time, take them for their afternoon constitutional as a pair.  Why not?  Together, they are more than likely as cute as two peas in a pod.

But peas they are not.  They are dogs, which means they are full to the brim with feelings.  If your two dogs are never apart, they will become less and less able to be apart.  In that case, when one of them has to go to the vet, say, or worse, stay overnight at the animal hospital, the other dog will be beside himself with anguish.  He may whine and cry or wait by the door, a pitiful sight, enough to make you wish you'd read this years ago.

The fix is easy.  A couple of times a week, no less, but more if you so choose, walk your dogs separately.  Take one when you go to the bank.  Take the other when you pick up your dry cleaning.  Or, one day, take one for a regular walk and the other on an adventure walk, a long, long hike to a new neighborhood.  Next time you take them out separately, switch off.  This time the dog that got the shorter walk gets the longer walk, maybe with a stop at an outdoor cafe, or a trip to Beasty Feast for new toys.

Letting the dogs see that they are safe going out without each other, and, as important, safe staying home without each other is an important part of their training.  Cute as they are together, it is essential for every dog to know that he's also his own guy, that quiet time need not be frantic time, and that seeing the world without his buddy along can be merely another way to have a good time.

Old Fashioned

Which is crazier, I've been wondering, walking down the street talking into a cell phone, often one that no one can see, or doing things the old fashioned way, walking down the street talking to your dog?

Here I am explaining to Peep that the chicken she is about to get, saved from my lunch at Pastis, is a reward for her sterling behavior her very first time in a restaurant. 

Just because I am not a food trainer does not mean I don't give my dog treats. 

And just because I hardly ever have conversations on my cell phone while walking down the street does not mean I am not crazy.

Well, you know what I mean.

You May Already Be A Winner

If, like me, you put your dog on a pedestal, if you think he's the greatest thing since seedless grapes or no-iron cotton, then you might be planning on going to the Westminster Kennel Club dog show at Madison Square Garden in New York City (again) this year.  The show starts on Monday, February 13th and culminates with Best in Show the following evening, appropriately, on Valentine's Day. 

All day long, both days, there are dogs to admire in the benching area, and, as important, people to answer your questions.  I always ask the most pertinent ones - does this breed like to sleep in bed with you?  Do they snore?  When they shed, does the hair fall to the ground or stay airborne?  Do you know of any dogs of this breed who are working as service dogs?

You might not ask the last question.  You might not ask any of mine.  You probably have your own.  Are beagles good with kids?  How difficult is it to train a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog?  How much would it cost me to get a good Lab puppy?  Is this breed good with cats?  How should I introduce my new Westie to my old Westie?  How much grooming does a Bouvier need?  Do Whippets get cold in the winter?

Your dog might never compete in a dog show.  And if he does, he may never win Best in Show.  But if you get answers to your important questions, you may already be a winner.  Westminster is the place to ask them.  I hope to see you there.

Irene's Water

A few months before I turned sixteen, I found a summer job at the Ocean Breeze Hotel, just a half a block and across one street from my house.  That first year, I was the relief switchboard operator and the relief counselor, giving me three shifts to work and leaving lots of time to go to the beach, a block away from the hotel. 

One of the waitresses, an old timer named Irene, had the best station and got better tips than anyone else at the hotel.  She must have been in her sixties or older - to me, at fifteen, she looked a hundred, her hair dyed flame red, a cigarette perpetually dangling from her painted lips, the ashes falling wherever.  One of Irene's secrets, one of the reason why her tips were more than anyone else's, was her coffee. 

"You don't want to drink that mud," she'd say, referring to the coffee the poor folks on everyone else's station had to drink.  "Let me get you some of Irene's coffee."  With that, she'd whirl around and head straight for the kitchen.  She'd take a coffee pot off the shelf, fill it from the same urn that everyone else used, bring it proudly to the table and fill the cups of her lucky customers.  Moments later, she'd reap the rewards, cash pressed gratefully into her waiting hand. 

Like Irene's happy customers, my dogs have special water.  The regular bowl, filled from the tap, is in the kitchen.  The special bowl, also filled from the tap, is in the office bathroom.  Most often, after a walk, the dogs will rush by the kitchen bowl to get to the one in the bathroom, to the special one.  I think of it as "Irene's water."  And I know in my heart that if they were the sort to tip, I'd make out like a bandit.

Making Faces

When I was little, and a fussy eater, my mother did the things mothers do to get their fussy eaters to eat.  She flew little airplanes of oatmeal into my mouth.  She distracted me with toys.  She told stories. 

When I was a little older, and still a fussy eater, she promised treats, "Eat your spinach and you can have a Mallomar."  And she made faces -  not the kind where you stick out your tongue or grimace.  My mother made faces by giving some mashed potatoes green pea eyes, a carrot nose, a peach slice smile.  She'd go out of her way to get me to eat what she considered nutritious food, not knowing that what was deemed good for you would get changed, in times to come, as often as your socks.

When I became a mom, it wasn't the yucky spinach I remembered, nor the fruit compote I hated so intensely.  I remembered how loved I felt when my mother made faces on my food.  So I did that for my child, the way my mother had for me.

Now that my daughter is grown with children of her own, I still make faces on food.  It's not that my dogs are fussy eaters.  And it's not that a dog would care whether or not there was a face made out of fruit on his cottage cheese.  Making faces reminds me of my mother, and how she fussed to get her fussy eater to eat.  Making faces reminds me of her kitchen, of sitting at the table when my feet didn't yet touch the floor and watching my mother, an artist at work.

Above, Dexter's birthday breakfast.  He ate every bite, face and all.

Should You Judge A Book By Its Cover?

This just in - the cover design for the mass market version of Without a Word, due in your local bookstore at the end of June.  The story, like the cover of the hardback version, is dark and gritty, a story about an abandoned child, sullen, angry and mute, who holds the key to a horrific crime.  The story, unlike the cover of the mass market version, is dark and gritty...  Well, of course, it's the same story, word for word.  But this time, there's an adorable Border collie on the cover (no, not one of mine) and a cheerful cityscape replaces the seedy meatmarket scene on the hardcover book.  So how do you judge a book, if not by its cover?

Unless you've gone shopping because of a review you read, or an enthusiastic recommendation by a friend who knows your taste, you could always judge a book by the writing.  Even in cyberspace, it's sometimes possible to read the first few pages and see if the story pulls you in, if you have to know what happens next.  Or, perhaps, it's the writing that pulls you in, that makes you feel you're there, that you know that place, that the writer knows you.

In most bookstores now, you know, in the real world, there are easy chairs, couches, even coffee.  You can curl up and read as if you were at home - and then finish reading in your favorite spot, the chair near the window or scrunched down in bed.

You might prefer the gritty cover, the meatmarket after dark.  You might prefer the little collie - yes, there is one in the story - or the price of the paperback version.  But it's the writing that will determine whether you actually read the book.  Maybe that's what should be on the cover - chapter one, page one.  Just a thought...

Laughing

Some days there doesn't seem to be much to laugh about - all the more reason to find a way to get yourself laughing.  Some people watch funny movies.  Some tell jokes.  Hanging out with friends, you might find yourself laughing, especially after relating your troubles.  One way or another, laughing is the way to go.  It's good for the mind, good for the body, good for the soul, the perfect way to start the new year. 

2006

Whatever you wish for, that's what I wish you to have - health, wealth and happiness, peace, peace and quiet, good books to read, good friends to see, good work and good works to do, and maybe even a trip to Paris.

Happy New Year, one and all.

Carol

Perfect Angels

You can actually see dogs thinking things over, especially little puppies who are thinking over your rules, deciding if they should follow them or not, wondering what will happen if they don't.  That's why it's important to pay attention, to tell them when you approve of their decisions and when you think it might be wise for them to reconsider.  It's easy, really, just a soft, quiet "Good girl," or a soft but serious, "No."  Of course, with little puppies, "No" should always be followed by a "Yes."  The bad news is that you can't chew the rug.  The good news is you can chew this wildly attractive toy.  That's my good pup!

Your Christmas puppy won't be a perfect angel by spring, not this spring anyway.  But she'll be well on her way if you quietly, gently tell her what it is you approve of and exactly what you don't.

Shadows

Even when we seem to be alone, we aren't.  We are blessed and dogged by the long shadows of what we have experienced so far, what life has taught us, and by the even longer shadows of our ancestors, the genetic input going back generations that has formed us both physically and psychologically.  It's easy to bend under the weight of what we carry.  The trick is not to.  The trick is to think of the shadows as arrows pointing out the direction of our journey, and then to feel free to follow them or not.

Anyway, that's my plan for the coming year.