Walks with Leporello, Thoughts on LOVE, GOD and DOG - 6. VI. Doe-Eyed Perseverance

VI. Doe-Eyed Perseverance

May 16, 2011

These are the eternal green pushings of youth – rising impulses like the emerald-hued chlorophyll in grass – they will grow despite less than ideal conditions, placement or heritage. If we luxuriate in life, we follow the original Latin meaning of the word: we come to seed, to maturity, we have made it out of vulnerable youth, and we can relax. Past our purpose to reproduce an image of ourselves, we also proceed to deteriorate, or wither, per the plant analogy. But at our back, it seems eternal spring pushes us on to be young, to recall the forces that governed our green haunts and provided giddy pleasures in even the simplest things – a hug from our parent, a kiss from our first love, a jubilant feeling that time is on our side, and that optimism is our natural bequest. So too it was with our dear Leporello. Any of his youthful wildness tamed down into calm self-awareness – master of the park and sidewalk, Leppy had fear for no situations, malice for no individual – even those who hurt him like the Shepherd in the park he seemed to pity – and he had strength to carry less-than calm heads through every hairy situation with aplomb.

His deep brown eyes stayed the same. Or, perhaps I should say, they returned to their inherent serenity. The periodic flash of challenge that would momentarily beset his look disappeared with the end of his adolescence. Once again he regarded me with the familiar and trusting eyes that remained the same from then on. We have a picture taken on that first Sunday he was with us. Sunny placed it in a frame where it has remained for fifteen years. In the photo, the little twelve-week-old puppy is spread half flat on the rug below me and the camera lens. His back legs are flat and his two fore paws are quickly rising his front half. His eyes, though, his eyes look at me through the camera with his expression of supreme comfort; contentment with himself, and with the young man standing before him. With this look is a longing. A longing I have always known as one of wanting to connect – we are so different, people and dogs, yet they reach out to us with sweet understanding. I have many terms for those expressive eyes of Leporello – Bambi-eyes, Soul-seekers, and most commonly, I call them Mary-Pickford-eyes. That dear Canadian girl – America’s Sweetheart – seems to have modeled her eye makeup on the Golden Retrievers of her day, because that same dark eye line lent her a patented Airedale sweetness. When we moved to the Noe Valley neighborhood in 1999, our still young dog seemed to have trouble adjusting. We lived out of boxes as I stripped the box beam ceiling, scraped the Mission Style brick mantelpiece, and he walked around with heart-break eyes. Remarkably, I was able to capture a photo of this miserable and pleading look of his. Remarkable because we have almost never been able to capture a non-red-eye picture of his Bambi-browns. When this photo came from the printers, I was set back on my heels at how clearly it captured this time in his life. It shows his ears wrenched back and flat on his head, while his eyes speak a milk-chocolate-sadness, humbly asking me to put the camera down and take him home. How to explain to him that this was our “new home,” though absent from Duboce Park and our lovely ash-tree lined Noe Street, this new house and street and parkland offered just as much as ‘home.’ Finally the box beams were refinished, the bookcases in place and the dozens of boxes emptied onto their shelves. This room was done, and I unrolled the rug. Now this rug proved to be a bit special to Leppy because it came from our old front room. A room that for Leppy was out of bounds, unless we were with him. The unrolling of this rug proved to be a cornerstone for Leppy, for as I undid it, he was right by my side inspecting every freshly uncovered part with his nose. When the rug was laid flat, he gave it another complete circuit, ensuring every square inch of this familiar object was there, and then he turned to me, and plopped down with an immense relief-filled sigh. The rug communicates what I cannot – we are home; wherever we are together, we are home. This fact was borne out by our next move. When we came to our current house and neighborhood in 2003, Leppy relished the change and eagerly awaited the moment for the official rug unrolling. Then he repeated his inspection; he turned around and looked to me with the same comforting plop and sigh. For him, that was the moment we moved into our new home.

In Noe Valley, as I had been trying to tell him he might, he found a new love. The beautiful yet coy Chow Chow of his Duboce Triangle dreams stayed in his heart (no doubt), but around the corner from us now lived a striking Husky girl. She batted her blue eyes at him and drove him wild. She had white and warm-gray bushy fur and a face round as a sunflower, as indeed Chow Chows do. She’d flirt with Leppy in the most outrageous way. She’d be sitting on the sidewalk with her human companion as he chatted to a neighbor and would pretend to not quite see us coming. I’d have to cross the street, but the vixen glance she’d toss at Leppy was accompanied by a cock of the head. A fervent look from Leporello to me, pleading for a closer meeting, was met with an “out of the question” finality on my part. Chicken bones, twenties, flirts on the sidewalks – my reactions and denials to all were unfair. His mini run for the hills after the Chow Chow left Duboce park had made me wary, but still I longed for Leppy, at least once, to encounter the Chow-Husky dream face in the flesh and act out the need to reproduce the beauty of himself with another. But children for him never happened, not for the want of us reaching out to Airedale breeders, but Leppy’s offspring were all the children and humans that he touched perfectly with his heart.

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At the news of his demise, a certain little boy named Ren was deeply hurt. It touched my heart that an eight-year-old boy who encountered Leppy perhaps half a dozen times in his life would feel the loss so personally. A few years ago we held an Easter egg hunt for Ren and a few others of similar age. The morning of the hunt turned up raining, so I was forced to hide the decorated eggs in the house. As I had my basket, Leppy’s nose was curious at its contents. He followed me around, step by step, as I placed the eggs – under the clock, behind the chest, here and there at each hiding place – Leppy followed with a deep sniffing confirmation. A gentle telling not to take them was all I needed to do. Dogs take the eccentricities of man with resigned amazement. I think of Jack London who said that dogs have a way of looking at people with a fine admixture of wonder and contempt: wonder that we can do so much; contempt that we actually do so little. If I suddenly took to placing cooked and dyed chicken eggs around the house, Leppy could forgive me and move on. When the hunt began, a light clicked in Leppy’s head. I had done this strange thing for the little ones. Their hands groped here and there, between the chest and the wall, behind open doors, and Leppy was right there with them. Seeing the little hands grasp baskets like the one I’d used, he followed in their wake, confirming that they had obtained the hidden egg. And regarding one particular little girl, who was younger and less capable of finding the treats amidst the crowd of raucous boys, Leppy took her in hand, so to speak, and personally led her around – she instantly understanding his intent – and showed her where to look. Later, the end of the day found me a weary seeker of any errant ovum, but again Leppy came to the rescue. Starting exactly where I had started hours earlier, he led me one by one through all of my hiding places – sequentially – sniffing each cranny and looking up at me when he found an egg the kids had missed. Thank goodness, for there were at least three potential stink bombs I might not have disposed of otherwise. That night Leppy’s Easter dinner was rich with reward in the form of chopped eggs.

A short time after this we began to want a companion for our dog. A gentle cur who could function as Leppy’s pet during the weekdays. Sunny had a Cocker Spaniel when a little boy and we settled on that breed. Little Figaro, born in 2008, came from Oroville, which is a much farther drive than Sacramento had been all those years ago. We drove up there insistent upon finding a dog with Leppy criteria: about ten to twelve weeks old, and one who had grown up with his parents and siblings. There were two little boys available, their three sisters having already been placed, and we focused in on the little and gentle runt. He looked and acted very companionable. The long drive home followed the newly cemented ‘old tradition’ of the pup sitting on our lap. Mostly I drove and puppy curled on his towel in Sunny’s well-contented grasp. After five hours of driving, we were finally home. I held the puppy under my left arm as I unlocked the front door. What happened next will probably always be my strongest memory of Figaro, for in the twilight house Leppy appeared from the kitchen and walked towards me at the door. The Cocker in my arm instantly stiffened. I glanced down to see him craning his neck and bobbing his head like an owl fixing his eyes on some far-off prey. The very instant Figaro was sure Leppy was a fellow canine, I felt Fig’s stumpy tail begin to pound the inside of my arm, and the outside flank of my side, with such vigor it went straight into my long-term memory. How happy he was. He squiggled his back legs excitedly and I set him down. In mid-run, he leapt towards the bemused Airedale and jumped on the other’s terrier face with tiny front paws, looking for all the world to be indulging in playful laughter. Leppy did his park pose, but the puppy wasn’t going to run anywhere – velcro-like was Figaro’s mode of adherence. Figaro greeted Leppy with a warmth that never waned. With a perseverance that bespoke a life-long love, as if of one made long before his birth. On Leppy’s part though, the first flush of “How-de-do” quickly faded.

Over the next several weeks, the words most appropriate to describe Leppy’s demeanor towards the newcomer were: reticent; standoffish; apprehensive; and wary. The puppy for his part loved to punk Leppy’s muzzle with his front paws as he stood on tippy toes of his back legs. Figaro – at any quiet moment when Leppy was laying down and at puppy eye-level – would grab onto Leporello’s silk-purse ears and chew, chew, chew. Also, Figaro sought comfy contact with him whenever Leppy was recumbent. Figaro would contort himself to fit between Leppy’s front legs, or Leppy’s back legs, or curl up in the warmth of his belly area. Leppy seemed to resent this behavior more than any other. Since Sunny doted on the puppy with shameless abandon, at annoyed times Leporello would turn his Mary-Pickford-eyes to him and ask “When is this one going home?” Later, the pleading changed to “Won’t you let me put him in his place?” Around this same time, Sunny wanted a portrait. He sat with Leppy on his right and squiggle-bottom on his left. I, behind the camera, captured a series of shots – first Leppy leaning away with all his might and casting a suspicious glare at the ‘thing’ on Sunny’s other side. Then a second shot of puppy leaping across Sunny’s lap. And a third with a sad and frank-looking Leppy casting his eyes right in the camera as Figaro sank his puppy teeth into a silk-purse ear.

But Figaro had time on his side, and his creamy, doe-eyed perseverance eventually worked its magic. The Airedale’s grudging standoffishness grew to become shoulder-shrugging permittance, and eventually, deep-sighing acceptance. He played it cool and thought he never quite let on how he’d started looking forward to the seeping comfort Leporello derived from Figaro’s close contact. They began to nap together, and Leppy commenced to look for him when the younger dog was absent from his side. I should relay the little bit of Leppy brand discipline he finally conveyed, though always with a deferential regard to Sunny’s face. One evening, Sunny came home, and the two ran a joyful riot to greet him. Figaro though, far from wasting his attention on Sunny, usually focused on pushing Leppy’s face with his paws, along with other annoying activities. Well, one evening, Leppy deftly whipped around and pinched the inside of one of Figaro’s abundantly fleshed Cocker Spaniel ears. The puppy seemed shocked, squealed like a stuck pig, and left Leporello alone. Leppy glanced up to get Sunny’s approval, and once obtained, this made him feel more at ease.

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Thoughts of Figaro’s heart-break should Leppy go from the scene, plus knowledge of Leppy’s superior parenting skills, led us to decide on opening our doors to another puppy. Masetto the Airedale came to us Thanksgiving week 2010. Born in the middle of July, he too was a good age for a new home and had grown up with his parents and siblings. The pushings of youth will always push, and as he latched onto Figaro, he became a link to that new green day. Masetto chewed Figaro’s ears, he’d plop down where Figaro tried to walk and exposed his belly for Figaro’s play. He would crowd Figaro for rest and generally did to him as he had done to Leporello. Masetto with Lep was different. This pup treated Leporello with the dignity due the head of the pack. Leppy would put his two cents in whenever he thought Masetto was too boisterous with Fig, and then the younger would listen and back off. The one supreme expression of affection from Airedale pup to Airedale senior was grooming. Masetto would lick Leppy’s ears on the inside, and Leppy, despite all efforts at suppression, would positively reel with the pleasure. He’d groan low and crane his ear canal closer to the puppy’s cleaning touch. Masetto would also take care of Leppy’s tired eyes. Though they could not see as well as they had, they benefited from direct stimulation and careful clearing of gunk. Masetto would do this in gentle repetitiveness – over and over his soothing licks would pass over Leppy’s shut eyes. Gentle piled upon gentle, the slow rhythm would make Masetto close his eyes too.

A couple of months before his passing, Leppy completely blew his Cool-Hand-Luke persona regarding Figaro. One day I was typing at the computer, as I am now, and I was vaguely aware that Leppy was lying on the floor in the room adjacent. Had I glanced, I’m sure I would have seen his face through the open door. Concentrating on my work, Figaro appeared at my feet, hotly chased by Masetto in play. They tussled for a few minutes between my legs until I grudgingly picked Figaro up and put him on my lap. I worked away and ten minutes later set Figaro down. Masetto began to roughhouse again, and about thirty seconds later, as if out of nowhere, Leppy was a lightning rush of protection over Figaro. He was angry. Hard for me to believe, but angry is the only word that describes the way he chastised puppy. “Leave him alone,” he insisted, for Leppy had had enough. The puppy did so and retreated to a faraway room. Figaro’s perseverance had won over his big Airedale heart after all.

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Perseverance, always optimistic, always green, pushes on luxury and wins. Many times, as in the case of the kindergarten child, aged sternness affects youth’s development for the better, and steady growth reminds budding mortality where it has sprung from. I saw Masetto only last evening cleaning Figaro’s eyes. Figaro lay on the sofa, his head positioned forward where Masetto, standing on the floor, could groom for a long, steady time. Masetto after a moment or two rolled his eyes back and continued with his eyes tightly shut. Why? Pleasure. Like the flush of a first kiss, long-lasting devotion too has a pervasive sweetness that overwhelms the other senses until they shut down in the absolute reception of love. Max did so with his parakeet; Leppy with Masetto. The push to pleasure through connection is a constant on all of us, if only we obey its insistence with open-hearted relish.

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