A Sense of Adventure

   

It's so easy to lose sight of the gifts this life affords us, Conor.  When you get caught up in the day to day, when the scenery never changes, when life becomes "routine", it's so very easy to find yourself drowning in your own apathy.  But then there are those times that reinvigorate you.  Those moments that fly in the face of 'ordinary'.  The times you can look back on and remember exactly when, and where, and how all of the circumstances of that moment made you feel - good or bad.  That's when you truly embrace life.  Or more, that's when you embrace what life is.  It's those moments that will bring you squarely back to your sense of self.  And today was one of those days for me, Son.

Everybody you'll ever meet in this life is a little bit different from the next person.  Truly, people are like snowflakes - no two are ever the same.  The things that make some people embrace life can be vastly different than what makes your engine go.  For some it's a social activity or an encounter with another person, for others it may be championing a business deal, or perhaps besting your fellow man in sport and competition is what makes you tick... Whatever it is, it's that 'thing' which awakens the senses of the pursuant person and it's that thing that brings them back for more.  Their drug of choice, so to speak.

For me that thing which grabs a-hold my soul and awakens me to the magnificence of this gift of life is the road.  It's seeing the world.  The whole world.  Or at least as much of it as I can see at any one time.  I'm truly never more at peace than when I'm exploring a landscape that is unknown to me.  When I'm experiencing another man's "everyday", that's when I'm closest to self.   

"Nosce te ipsum" ... It's Latin for "Know Thyself".  Traveling and seeing the world around me is the key to my soul.  It unlocks the dark and dusty corners of who I am and ignites a fire to do and see even more.  The road allows me to get back to basics.  Ground zero.  The very center of who I am...  And this seems especially so when I'm traveling alone.  Of course I'd love to have a travel partner on these adventures!  On days like this one there was so much to see, the opportunity to share it with a friend or loved one would of course be great!  But then, it may also reshape the entire experience. Change the direction, the outcome, and the quiet solitude true reflection requires.

Today was one of those rare days for me, Conor.  Today was a day for exploration, enlightenment, and deep reflection.  Reflection as it relates to you, to Mommy, to family, and to friends who've come and gone and who are alive and dead.  Today was one of those rare days, Boy'O.

I've spent the last two days - and will spend the next two days - in a series of meetings between several tribal gaming casinos in the Pacific Northwest; an area of the country I'd previously never visited.  Flying into Portland, Oregon yesterday morning, I picked up a roller skate of a rental car - a Ford Festiva (money's tight when you're on a start-up budget, Son) - and made my way North into the State of Washington for a pair of meetings in the Olympia, Washington area.  The ride North was fine despite seven hours of flight time having made a connection in Detroit, Michigan.  Though sitting on a plane and the hustle that takes place in moving from one flight to the next can be utterly exhausting, and so my three hours of road travel when leaving Portland would take place primarily on highways, and in a non-stop pouring rain to boot.  Certainly nothing to write you about.  Though today would be vastly different.

Following a two hour meeting yesterday evening and five hours of meetings this morning, I had the better part of the afternoon and evening today to make my way back South into Oregon.  More specifically, the Oregon coast.  I mapped out a route that would take me away from the highways and bring me down a part of this great country that is as scenic as any I've ever driven.  In fact, I dare  to say it was the best drive I've ever taken - and I've taken some really incredible drives, Son.

Making my way through an otherwise overcast day in Washington State down Interstate 5 to Oregon Route 30 West, I weaved the roller skate through the scenic countryside of mountainous terrain West toward the Pacific coast.  Absolutely wide open and beautiful roads with nay another vehicle in sight, I buzzed my little Ford rental car through a canopy of towering pines clustered together so tightly that the forest floor was barely visible, if not pitch black.  As I made my way further and further West the skies cleared, the Sun shone through, and the visuals took on a life of their own.  Massive shadows cast themselves across the countryside allowing piercing beams of light through the tree tops only heightening the experience of seeing this part of the World I'd heard so much about.

After close to two hours in the car and nearing the coastal roadway known as "The Pacific Coast Highway", I came upon a town in the deepest Northwest corner of Oregon - Astoria.  As I pulled into town I spotted a sign for pub and grub called "The Rogue Public House" and decided to stop for something to drink and a bite to eat.  It was perhaps the second best decision I would make on the day; the first being to take the scenic route in the first place.  The Rogue Public House is a brew pub boasting forty home brewed craft beers with each food item on the menu incorporating some element of that beer into the ingredients of the dish.  The food was good, the beer was better, but what really made this place wasn't either of those - it was the location.

  

   

The Rogue Public House sat out far on a pier, maybe 300 yards across a small one-lane wooden bridge into what seemed like the middle of the mouth of the Columbia River as it meets the deep blue Pacific Ocean.  The channel itself was lined with row of Super Tankers awaiting the drop-off and pick-up of their payloads at a nearby port and was flanked on both sides by sweeping mountains covered in towering, thick pine trees.  The restauranteurs turning an old abandoned fish cannery into a seaside destination of libations and good times; perfect for a weary traveler like me.  A perfect stop, to say the least.

After a quick bowl of some Cheddar and Beer soup and a few tastes of several of their craft beers, I was back on the road to the PCH.  State Road Highway 101.  The most scenic drive I would ever take...  Leaving Astoria I crossed a broad bridge that switched back and forth across the Columbia River eventually taking me South along the Pacific Ocean and the brilliant setting Sun.  The views were absolutely stunning as this lonesome two lane highway twisted and turned along the jutting rock formations and majestic pines.  The drive was pure bliss.   With hardly another car in sight I gunned the little Ford in and out of sweeping turns and hard switch-backs, all the while the Sun sizzling into the Pacific Ocean over my right shoulder.

In several other posts to you I've mentioned what I believe are the moments where God will reveal himself, if only for a moment, provided you're graced with the capacity to believe in such a thing.  This drive would be one of those moments, Conor.  As I drove along this lonesome seaside roadway, the troubles of life washed away, my senses heightened exponentially, and the purity of self shone through bright as the full Moon who took the place of the setting Sun.  I felt euphoric; totally at ease and blissfully unaware of the troubles of man.  Just me, the majesty of the North Oregon Coast, and the road ahead.  Total enlightenment, if only for a moment.  And I couldn't wait to share it with you in these very words I write to you now...

 Eventually reaching my destination of Lincoln City, Oregon - a Hotel Casino and Resort called "Chinook Winds", I checked in, dropped my bags in the room, and walked out to the beach in the dark of night to look upon the full Moon as it refracted it's gaze across the mighty Pacific; the quiet sound of the rising tide gently kissing the shore and the low light of the Moon glimmering off the water would be all I would need to reflect on an otherwise perfect day on the road.  My only hope being that you experience these moments yourself, Son.  And that one day you realize in all the times of your life, good or bad, you always have the opportunity to take a drive, think long and hard and introspectively, and recognize just how absolutely beautiful life truly is.

I love you, Conor.
-Dad      

A Dog's Life

Life Conor... It can throw you from time to time.  We take for granted so much about the world around us that when one of those things so often taken for granted is suddenly taken from you, it feels a lot like being kicked in the chest by a Clydesdale.  Today was one of those days, Conor.  Something was taken from us, Boy'O.  More, someone was taken from us, and he cannot be replaced.

People who don't care for pets can never truly appreciate the bond that's created between the animal and their human.  I say "their human" because in fact, we as humans do not own animals.  They own us.  Or at least, they should.  Certainly that's always been my experience.  Sure, it's the human's responsibility to care for the animal, but what that animal gives in return is ten fold whatever you do for them.

Today we lost one of the best friends I've ever known.  One of your beloved dogs, Bruiser "The Man" Yerkes, has gone on to his great reward.  And while we all have a way to process things , my way is a stiff drink, some mellow tunes playing in an otherwise quiet room, and reflection, remembrance, and story telling.  This note to you will I hope some day tell that story and give you just a little bit more of the history you'll undoubtedly crave to know and understand of who you are and where you come from...

In September 2003, long before you were born, your mother and I bought a townhouse in Fairfax, Virginia.  It's the home we still share today, better than 10 years later.  At the time we had another dog, Jazz, who happened to be the first gal to ever capture my heart.  However, Jazz was very much "my dog".  What I mean by "my dog" is, I'd come to meet Jazzy-Girl in Daytona Beach, Florida some nine years earlier as an eight week old puppy; six years before I ever met your mother.  I raised her, trained her, fed her, and loved her with all my heart.  Though to be sure, Jazzy-Girl gave me far more than I ever gave her.  Jasmine Von Volusia, as was her full AKC name per her Rottweiler heritage, gave me everything she had as a friend and as a companion when I'd never needed one more.  In fact, Jazz saved my life, Son, and more than once.  But that's a story for another time.  Jazzy and I were as inseparable as any two sentient beings could ever be, and I still carry her with me to this very day.   Never the less, we traveled the country together, Jazz and me, and for a very long time.  I belonged to her, and she belonged to me - in life and ever after.

Jazzy Girl

 While Jazzy was still in great health upon moving to this townhouse in '03, she was turning the corner as a "Senior" and slowing down quite a bit.  Her raucous play, sturdy stature, and steady eye were giving way to mellow moments laid across my feet and old and creeky bones - her highest level of excitement coming by way of the unexpected dog treat or discarded pizza crust.  As this decline transpired before my very eyes, I often wondered what I could do to make this transition that much better for my old and faithful friend.  After several conversations with others who'd also seen their beloved canines move into their retirement years, one suggestion stood out far more than in home holistic remedies and pharmaceutical cocktails... It was suggested that we get a puppy! The idea being, the puppy's youthful enthusiasm and energy would breathe life into the old dog.  Seeing as how Jazzy was always very much "my dog", your mother took a fondness to the suggestion and began looking for adoption agencies where we might find a companion who could use a good home...  And we wouldn't have to look for very long. 

On one website in specific, a pet adoption agency calling itself "A Forever Home" was having an adoption drive at a local pet supply store in Chantilly, Virgina.  A Forever Home had images of all the available dogs and puppies, and your mother spotted one litter in particular that she was absolutely sure would have the perfect puppy to be a great addition to our family.  Though much to my dismay, the litter was that of a Chihuahua / Rat Terrier mix!  As the proud owner of a 110 lb Rottweiler who, in her prime, was as magnificent and as powerful a specimen of dog as any there ever was, the idea of walking the mean streets of Fairfax with a 3 lb toy dog was absolutely DREADFUL to me.  Still, she'd convinced herself that was what she wanted and, though you don't realize it now, Boy'O, you'll soon realize that once your mother sets her mind to something, there will be no changing it.  Even if I wanted to formulate an argument, it'd be futile.  So off we went to see the Chihuahua mix litter...

On Sunday November 9th, 2003 your mother and I made our way into the previously mentioned PetCo. in Chantilly to see this litter of critters.  Though upon arrival we were informed they hadn't arrived yet, and so of course we decided to wander around and look upon all the other litters, if for nothing else because they were cute to see!  We happened upon one litter labeled "Boxer Mix" and, for the most part, these puppies were predominantly black with a few distinguishing marks and stars on them.  While standing over the open pen staring at these adorable and helpless creatures, a woman came walking up holding a tiny shivering mass of wet fur in a towel.  It seems his litter mates had rolled him in some excrement, clearly driving down adopt-ability, if for nothing else than nobody would want to hold him!  So, this freshly washed, soaking wet, tiny, scared-stiff 3 lb 8 oz trembling puppy appeared in the arms of one of the volunteers.  Your mother asked the woman if it'd be okay to hold him, and so as she handed him over this sweet little puppy would fasten himself to your mom in a way that would make Annie the Orphan blush...

Mind you, I never saw this exchange as I was still transfixed on the litter of puppies at my feet.  Suddenly your mother appears before me and before I could even say a word she looked at me and said excitedly, "This is the one.  This is our dog, Shane.  Can we take him?"  I looked at your mother curiously for a moment and then craned my head to the side to try and get a peek at the tiny face nuzzled into her neck, still vigorously shaking from being wet and cold and undoubtedly afraid.  I pointed at him and, with a very bewildered look and questioning tone said, "That?!  That's the one you want?"  She nodded sternly to the affirmative, and off we went to the adoption table.

The process was fascinating actually.  Having bought Jazzy Girl from a breeder in Florida, I'd never gone through a  pet adoption and frankly, I didn't know what to expect.  I filled out all the requisite forms and answered a series of questions, including questions about existing pets.  When I explained that we have a ten year old Rottweiler at home who's been with me since she was eight weeks old, the interviewer lit up!  "A Rottweiler!  What's the dogs name?" She asked.  "Jasmine", I explained.  "She's a great dog.  Loving and loyal.  We're actually looking to adopt as much for her as for us."  The woman on the other side of the table beamed... "Well, anybody who's owned a Rottweiler for ten years is okay with us.  Ordinarily you'd have to wait a day or two until we could have a volunteer come by your home for an inspection, but I'll tell you what, you go ahead and take him home with you and I'll come by personally later this evening.  I'd love to meet Jazz, and of course see where this little puppy will be living.  Have you picked out a name?"  Your mother spoke up, "Bruiser.  Bruiser Yerkes is his name..."  And off we went with our new family member.  Bruiser Yerkes.

We paid the adoption fees, thanked the woman who'd interviewed us, and walked through the PetCo. grabbing all we'd need for this new life in our care.  A training crate, puppy food, a few chew toys, a tiny collar, and a leopard print dog bed no bigger than a serving tray.  Happy with our new addition, we left the store and brought Bruiser home to 4002 Gregg Ct, Fairfax, Virginia where he would spend his entire life...

When we arrived home your Uncle Justin came immediately over to the house to meet him.  He brought with him a gift - a tiny elephant chew toy that Bruiser took to immediately.  We watched our Washington Redskins play the Seattle Seahawks while spending the better part of the afternoon looking after this tiny curious puppy wandering around his new home, inspecting his surroundings.  The representative from A Forever Home came to the house, made her inspection, met Jazzy-Girl, and left satisfied that Bruiser was in good hands... After the game Uncle Justin headed home and we all retired for the night.  Bruiser would have to get used to his new dog crate that we would place strategically along side of our bed in order to get up periodically and let him out of the house to relieve himself.  Though things did not go as planned...

Some time in the early morning hours your mother heard an awful noise.  Bruiser was hacking and wheezing and sounded as though he was struggling to even catch his breath.  When she woke me up and I flipped on the light, we witnessed an awful site.  Pardon the descriptive nature of this part of the story Son, but Bruiser had made quite a mess in his tiny crate, and it was coming out of both ends.  Both vomit and stool were scattered around the crate, on his bed, on himself, and on the carpet.  The color of what was coming out of this poor little puppy was a deep auburn brown with distinct crimson red coloring - indicating blood.  And a lot of it.

We jumped out of bed to grab Bruiser and get him cleaned up in an attempt to understand what was happening.  Though no explanation would be found.  What was clear however, is that we were losing him, and fast.  Your mother told me to call A Forever Home and tell them what was happening.
"But Sara!" I protested, "It's 3:00am!  There's nobody there to take the call!"  She looked at me with a look of both determination and fear.  "I don't care, Shane.  You call them right now.  We don't know what else to do!"  Knowing she was right and without giving it another thought, I picked up my phone and called them.  To our great surprise, someone answered!  When I explained what was going on the person I was speaking to told me they would have a veterinarian to the house by 6:00am.  I was both surprised and pleased with the level of response they were promising, and so we sat up with Bruiser and waited.  True to their word, at 6:00am a large white van pulled into the driveway and a Doctor emerged with a black leather bag reminiscent of something I'd seen of a family practitioner making house calls in an old movie.

The Doc came into the house and began to diagnose our little puppy.  Turned out he'd contracted a tiny mite that embeds itself into the stomach lining of the host where it can grow and spread causing internal rupturing, hence all the blood.  This condition is known as 'Coccidia', and is potentially fatal.  the veterinarian explained that it could be treated, though it would be difficult and risky as the puppy may not survive it, despite the medicine.  He offered to take Bruiser for euthanization and reimburse us for the money we'd spent.  "Absolutely not!" your mother spoke up.  "We took on this puppy and all that comes along with it.  He's our responsibility now.  We'll see him back to health."  Clearly impressed with her vehemence, the vet gave us the name of a veterinarian in Chantilly, Dr. Martin Toehill, and told us that if we make all of our follow up appointments with him, they'll cover all the vet costs for the next six months.  Treatment, shots, the works...

Bruiser would go absolutely everywhere with me for the next several days.  I placed him in a small cat carrier box and brought him into the office, to the gas station, the grocery store, and of course, the veterinarian.  Everywhere.  And he recovered beautifully.  What we got in return was a fiercely loyal friend, a great dog, and an animal worthy of this acclaim.  Bruiser was quite possibly the best dog I've ever raised.  Well behaved, good tempered, highly disciplined (not one of my three puppies have ever even seen a leash until they were 6 months old, learning quickly to hang on to my every command when out of doors) and most importantly, he loved us without bounds, Son.

Now having said that, make no mistake.  Bruiser was your mother's dog.  You see Boy'O, a dog can have many masters, but only one heart.  From the moment they connected at the pet store in Chantilly, Bruiser and your mom were kindred.  Connections like that do not come along often.  Where she went, he went.  Always.  And in the good times as in the bad, Bruiser was there for her.  If he were in the room, rest assured no harm would ever come to your mother.  Bruiser was a dog who would absolutely give his life to protect his true love - and she was certainly that.  While I was predominantly Bruiser's caretaker, trainer, and disciplinarian, your mother was Bruiser's master, make no mistake.

Bruiser was in our lives four days shy of a decade.  In those ten years are memories that we will carry with us to our graves, no doubt about it.  A wonderful dog, a loyal companion, and a fierce and trusting friend.  And while I couldn't be here to say goodbye before he shuffled off this mortal coil to a far better place, I take great comfort in the fact that your mother was with him when he took his final breath.  She was there, lying along side of him and holding him close, just as they were when they first met almost ten years ago.

 
There is no greater bond than between dog and man, Son.  I truly believe that.  Though if you live according to God's plan, you have to realize that you're going to outlive them.  That's part of the deal.  They'll give you all they got until they can't, and then you have to say goodbye.  That's the deal.  But for a dog like Bruiser, I'd take that deal one hundred times over... 

Bruiser was a great dog, Boy'O.  And he left us all, you included, better than when we welcomed him into our lives.  And he will be missed, always.

I love you, Conor.  And I love you too, Bruiser Man.  Sleep well...
-Dad