The Doberman and me.

     I've got a little story I'd like to share with you,  gentle reader.  It's about having compassion for your fellow beings.  Even those whom you may dislike, or may dislike you.

     I currently live in an apartment.  But just a few years ago I lived in a house.  It was a wonderful little house in the northeastern part of Pasadena, CA.  Right at the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains.  Very picturesque, quiet, great neighbors, an absolutely idyllic and peaceful place in which to live.
     I had wonderful next-door neighbors on my left.  A relatively young couple (in their early 30's).  Both were attorney's and they had two young children, one boy and one girl.  They were an American family that could have been straight out of central casting or a Norman Rockwell illustration.  Young, upwardly mobile, with well mannered children enrolled in a private school, a meticulously manicured yard, him: a BMW, her: a Mercedes Benz.  Just a young family who is doing quite well and living the American Dream.  Oh yeah, did I mention that they also had a Doberman Pinscher?

     That damn dog hated EVERYBODY but his own family.  He was an honest-to-goodness trained attack dog.  He was imported from Germany and responded only to commands issued to him in German.  And he only knew a few commands.  'Sit', 'stay', 'patrol', and of course 'attack'.  When the neighbors first got this dog they let me know about it.  That they had a real-life trained killer living with them.  That he did not have a name and if ever he should become aggressive toward me that I should tell him in a very firm voice "BLEIBEN".  Which means "stay" in German. Well, that dog was like a robot.  He obeyed commands without hesitation.  He'd "snap-to" like a young Marine being told "ten-hut!!" by his Drill Sergeant.  But he would only do so when told by members of his family.  The commands never worked when tried by anybody else...that included his next-door neighbor: me.
     Thus began my relationship with The Doberman.  Because of the fact that the fence surrounding my neighbors backyard (including the side that bordered my backyard) was only four feet tall, the Doberman could leave his domain at will.  He'd jump the fence the way you and I would step over a curb.  Any task that required me to leave the house was accompanied by much worry and much running.  Going to work in the morning I'd quietly open my front door, quietly shut it behind me, and then RUN to my car. Within two steps that dog would be over the fence in a dead sprint, teeth bared, looking to kill me. I'd get in my car and slam the door and give a prayer of thanks for actually making it yet again.  I could no longer use my beloved bar-b-que that I had in my backyard.  Hell, I couldn't even go out in my backyard to pick some oranges without getting mauled.  The guys who had mowed my lawns for the previous two years quit after only one encounter with the beast.  Finally, the neighbors agreed to have a new fence put in, six feet high, to keep that predator from killing me or anyone else.  I was going on a photoshoot in Missouri and would be gone for a week...they promised that the new fence would be in place by the time I returned.

     I was not without pets of my own, mind you.  Above is a picture of my pets, Cooper and Lady.  Two Triton Cockatoos.  The picture was taken in my backyard before the Doberman arrived on the scene.  They were a breeding pair, expected to produce young. $10,000 worth of two birds, cages, nesting materials and various other sundries.  I had raised them both since the time they were young enough to require hand-feeding.  Intelligent, fun-loving, friendly birds.  Both had huge vocabularies that I had taught them.  Both total characters that provided endless amounts of  love, amusement and laughs.
     As I said, I was going on a photoshoot in Missouri for a week, so I asked some friends of mine, a married couple, to look after my birds while I was gone.  I gave them a key and they were to come to my place every day and give fresh food and water, change the paper in the cage, turn on the t.v. and hang-out at my place for a few hours so that the birds would have some type of stimuli and not get depressed and lonely.  I was very meticulous in explaining how to care for the birds, to the point of writing a manual that I gave them before I left.  And every-other paragraph in that manual stated in bold letters: THESE BIRDS DO NOT HAVE CLIPPED WINGS.  NEVER LET THEM OUT OF THEIR CAGE IF A HOUSE DOOR IS OPEN.  THEY WILL FLY AWAY.
     Well, on the third day of my trip I received a phone call.  A door had been left open and both of my birds had flown away.  They were up in the tops of the very tall trees in the backyard and never flew more than a few houses away before coming right back.  But nobody could catch them.  To my friends credit, they did everything they could possibly do: they hired a professional "bird catcher", they contacted the Humane Society, they put up flyers all over the neighborhood.  Alas, on the fifth day of my trip I received another phone call telling me that both of my birds had been found dead on a patio about a block away.  They had died of exposure (they were not outside birds and could not tolerate the 38 degree cold of the night and did not know how to find food and water on their own).  I was devastated.

     So I returned home to find my house bereft of my two avian friends.  Just two empty cages:  one where they slept at night, the other where they had built a nest together and were going to have some babies.
     I'd had a long flight with no meal, I was tired and hungry.  And I was crying.  Absent-mindedly, I cut-up some veggies and put them in a foil pouch with seasoning and butter and started defrosting a steak, with the intention of putting both on the bar-b-que.  I opened a nice bottle of Merlot, poured a glass and went into the backyard to fire up my grill and allow it to preheat.  As soon as I got the flames lit on the bar-b-que I heard a growl, and turned to see the Doberman sailing over the new six-foot-high fence like it wasn't even there.  I did not care.  Still crying, my feelings were "fuck it, let the dog kill me.  I'm too sad right now and I just don't care".
     Teeth bared, ears back, headed my way with the speed and determination of a guided missile, the Doberman suddenly put on the brakes and slid about eight feet before finally coming to a stop right at my feet.  His muscular body slowly relaxed, his face softened, and instead of biting me he carefully nudged my hand with his snout. He then tilted his head to one side and said

"What's the matter Jimmy?  Why you crying"?
I said, "Because my birds died, Doggie."
"Your birds died"? he queried.
"Yeah", I said.  "They were my best friends and now they're dead."
"You mean them two birds that was up in the trees?  The two that be fucking all the time"?
I said "Yeah."
He said "They DIED"?
Again I reply "Yeah."
"Ain't that a bitch"? he says.
I said "Yeah.  It really sucks and am I'm hurting awfully bad inside Doggie."
To which he replies "Damn, I was planning on eating them."

     I didn't respond to that last statement of his.  We stood there together in silence, staring at the bar-b-que, lost in the kind of deep thought that only comes when watching flames do their hypnotic dance.  Finally, the dog gave a soft shake of his head and began to nudge my hand again with his nose.  Tears still streaming down my face, I began to softly pet the dog, giving the occasional scratch behind his ear.  He then asked

"Jimmy, do you mind if I give you a little piece of advice"?
I said "Sure Doggie."
He said "Now you go on and cry.  It's a good thing.  It's a good thing that you were blessed enough to have those birds in your life. You grieve and grieve hard if need be....and be thankful at the same time."
"I am thankful Doggie", I said.  "I just miss them so much."
The dog said "Sure you do Jimmy.  And that's OK.  But my advice to you is to grieve and always cherish the time you had with them, but be sure not to dwell on that shit too long.  You feel me"?
"Yeah, I feel you."
"I'm serious now" said the dog.  "Don't dwell on that shit too long.  That kinda stuff has a way of fucking with a nigga's head.  And I don't want to see you all messed-up.....being all depressed and shit. You dig"?
Still softly petting his velvety ears I told him that I understood.  That I'd try to move on and not let it keep me down for too long.

     At this point he turned his head and gave the back of my hand a few tender licks, while looking up at me with eyes that held a sadness that reflected my own.  He then turned and walked very slowly, dejectedly, with his head down, back towards the fence.  About four feet from the fence he raised his head, turned and looked back, his eyes still showing a great sadness, but now they also showed a small mischievous glint.  And he said

"You take care now Jimmy.  Keep your chin up."
I said "I will Doggie.  And thank-you.  Thank-you so much for your kind words."
He said "Hey man.  No problem my nigga.  I'm glad I could be there for you and I'm very sorry for your loss."
I said "You are too cool Doggie.  Thanks again."

     He nodded his head in understanding, turned away and crouched as if ready to jump.  At the last second he seemed to change his mind.  He looked over his shoulder and said

"Oh and by the way, just so you know, I'll be back to chasing and trying to kill your ass tomorrow."  At which point he effortlessly sailed over the fence into his own backyard....off to kill whatever he could catch.

     The above is a true story.  No really, it is.  And if it isn't, the moral of the story here is obvious:  try and show a little compassion in your life.  Even to your enemies.

                                                                  Cheers,
                                                                   Jimmy