Wake Up Call

Ten years ago today a little Lightbulbhead went out.  The little Italian Greyhound that followed my every step for eighteen years crossed over.

Since then I have had many remarkable dreams of him...as if he wants to remind me that, one way or another, he is still around.

Over the past couple of weeks, people in three different states have, independently, spoke of their memories of the Gig (aka Litebulbhead).  

In Denver, at the fabulous Meininger's art store:  Pat, when meeting Newt said "you would bring in that miniature greyhound, Giggy"  (It had been at least 12 years since Gig had been in the store…and  probably more than 20 since he was a regular).

At another art store in Santa Fe, the Artisan:  while meeting Newt, T-Bird suddenly exclaimed:  "You had 'Litebulbhead!"  She  recounted his visit to Meiningers when she worked there…wearing his 'wolf' costume (that was nearly twenty years ago!).

Then, a few days later on FB, when a former collector of my pen and ink work of dogs was searching for me…another long lost collector, Linda, chimed in from Tennessee.  She posted a pic of a drawing I did many years ago of her Giant Schnauzer "Jezi" with this comment "Jezi and Lyn's Italian greyhound used to play together at shows and Lyn took pictures of Jezi play bowing to Mr Gig…"

These are people who only met the Gig once or twice…so I find it rather poetic that these encounters came in the days approaching the tenth anniversary of his death…which is today, the first day of Spring.  Perhaps Gig is trying to tell me something…

This path we walk is fraught with twists and turns…and along the way we touch countless others…often without even realizing it.  One can only wonder how many times in the course of your life that your kind word brought a lift to another's spirit…or, sadly, how many times a thoughtless barb has crushed another.

If a wee dog can spark fond memories in passing acquaintances a decade after his death…what then are the memories left in the wake of our own paths?

I cannot honestly say that all of my encounters have left pleasant memories…but I can hope that I have more often left good over bad.  Life has taught me, sometimes the hard way, to look with an open mind and a loving heart.  

As time passes, I am certainly more and more purposely mindful of TRYING to leave a happy wake (even though, being human, I do still trip up more than I'd care to).

Like people, dogs evolve throughout their life.  The puppy that starts its life with us is very different than the old dog we say goodbye to.

When a friend recently commented that her aging dog no longer looked like the young dog she KNEW, I thought of how many times I looked at younger photos of my elderly Italian greyhound and thought "that is not the dog I KNOW".  

If the eyes of our aging pets "look" different to us…possibly it is because they SEE differently than in years before.  

Giggy/Litebulbhead was always amazingly intelligent…but he became wiser with every year of his life.  Those eyes looked at me with such intensity sometimes…such love…even when I had let him (or myself) down.

It is said that the eyes are the mirror to the soul…and, like us, our old dogs' souls have seen so many things.  Not just happiness…but pain, anguish, grief…

UNlike us, their aging eyes still look with boundless hope, infinite forgiveness and unconditional love…even when they know the darkest parts of our flawed human souls.  

My animals are a treasure to me not because I dislike humans…quite the opposite, actually.  They are precious, in part, because they teach me to be a better human and always remind me to keep working on my wake…

Litebulbhead, my little Sensei…thank you for bringing so much light and happiness to so many people (including me).

Saying Goodbye...

Antelope Valley, CA  April 2003  age 17

Today is the birthday of one of the best little souls I have ever known.   He's been gone nine years and as I wander through memories of his life, I find myself thinking about his death.  He left in a way that was, to me, as remarkable as he lived.

If you have loved an animal (especially a long-lived one), you have probably faced what we all dread…the "end of life" decision.  Gig had followed my every footstep throughout his long life.   

On a visit to my Mom's, when he was almost 17, the family vet gave him his shots then said "at his age, he probably doesn't need shots anymore".  I thought to myself, "Why didn't you say that BEFORE you gave him the shot?".  That evening, Gig collapsed. The shoulder where he got the shot wouldn't work.  He couldn't stand, much less walk…and it kept getting worse.  In the morning, we were back at the vet who said,  "It's neurological, there is nothing I can do, you're gonna lose him."  

Gig seemed to be going down so fast that my family said their goodbyes and I tried to make him as comfortable as I could for his "last" days.  One morning I took him outside, set him down…and watched in disbelief as he stood then took a couple of unsteady steps.  By the end of the day he was tottering around again like his old self, unphased by his "near death" experience.  For the rest of his life, though…that shoulder would "go out" now and then.

With Dad on the ranch, Del Norte, CO   May 2003

In June, during a visit to my Dad's ranch in Colorado, I looked up to see Gig (who was nearly blind and mostly deaf) following Dad up the log staircase.  I launched myself toward him while calling out to Dad, who was just getting to the top.  We were both too late…Gig toppled over backwards and tumbled down the staircase to the floor.  It looked like something out of a movie…I remember it in slow motion.  When he hit bottom, he writhed as if his back was broken, his neck twisted around and obviously in pain.  Sure that he had broken something, I immobilized him as Dad called the vet who lived down the road.  When we arrived at the vet's house and I set him carefully on the floor, he was still not moving.  The vet asked…"what did he do when he tried to walk?"  me:  "he hasn't yet, we brought him straight here".  About that time, the vet's Corgi walked by. Gig got up and tottered after the Corgi as if nothing had happened.  

Giggy the Poodle   October 2003

Over the next months, Gig was his old self, just old…and he traveled with me back and forth across the country, as always.  In Tennessee for Halloween at Mom's, I made "poodle" costumes for Gig and I. Together we won three costume contests...one was a parade and he proudly pranced along beside me (he always loved a good costume).  

In December, Gig was in the room with all of us as Dad died.  

In January, back in Idaho, I came home after walking to the Post Office and found Gig had fallen over the rocker of my chair and had not been able to get up.  I'd only been gone for about 20 minutes…but what if I'd been gone longer?  So we visited the vet to discuss what would be in Gig's best interest.  The kind vet said:  "He is not in any pain…he is living because he wants to be with you".  

So, I tried to help my old friend be "old" as comfortably as possible. Meanwhile, I processed my recent losses and faced losing him.  As we began this last phase of our long journey together, I told him:  "When you quit trying to eat and trying to walk…we'll go to the vet…you just tell me when".

In February, he traveled with me to San Diego for the opening of my "48 x 48" show…he always loved beaches, so I made sure he got to go to some. 

On the road somewhere   November 2003

One day it happened…he had been eating less and less, walking less and less…then he didn't do either.  Snuggling him to my chest as I lay on the sofa, I called my Mom to tell her I was putting him down and we shared a good cry. The moment I hung up the phone Gig got up, tottered across the room to his dish and started eating.  So, I postponed the vet visit.

The circumstances of my Dad's last hours had given me reason to believe that, as much as we have a right to LIVE as we choose, we also have a right to die the way we choose when possible and humane.  It would seem that Gig was not ready or willing to have the "dying" part of his life decided for him…and who was I to deny him that if he was not in pain?

For the next few weeks, it was back to our routine.

Several friends were going to an art show in Montana at the end of March and I was going to visit them there.  A couple of days before the show, Gig stopped eating and walking again.  I didn't want to subject him to the stress of another trip, so I called to say that I was still coming to the show, but I would be putting him down before.  Another call ended with everyone in tears. Once again, as soon as I put down the phone, Gig got up and walked straight to his food bowl.

March 2004

So…Gig went to Great Falls with me. As we arrived for the last day of the show, he looked at me and something solemn passed between us.  Instead of going to the show, Gig and I went back to the hotel room. It was Sunday, so I called a vet and made an appointment for the next morning.  With Gig snuggled in my lap, I spent the day reliving countless moments of our eighteen years together.  My friends returned in the evening…they said their goodbyes and one took the last pic of me and my old friend.  

I fell asleep with Gig in my arms, snuggled on my chest and his head under my chin.  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, he pushed me awake with a paw…then he looked me in the eyes…and, in moments, he was gone. He was a few days short of eighteen.

There were so many times over the years when I thought I had lost him, when I worried something would happen and I wouldn't be there for him.  As it was, I can not think of a better way to say goodbye to this remarkable little soul who had been such an amazing part of my life …and I know he wanted it exactly that way.

Giggy the "Litebulbhead"   April 1, 1986 - March 21, 2004

Giggy... November 11. 1999

For all the, literally, hundreds (maybe even thousands) of dog portraits I did during my dog art days...the paintings/drawings of my own dog were rare. Of the wonderfully unique "Giggster" there is only a small collection of my sketches (though I have a couple of pieces by other artists).

This is one of my favorites...a sketch I did from life as he slept on my knees, done in ball point pen on a napkin.

Soul Dog

After the death of the remarkable little Italian Greyhound that followed my EVERY footstep for 18 years...I was thinking I would not have another dog for a LONG time (if ever).

When I faced cancer, though...I knew I needed a dog.

Ever since seeing "Down and Out in Beverly Hills", I have wanted a mostly white border collie with black spots...and, in particular, a black patch over one eye like "Matisse".

With the wonders of modern technology at my fingertips, I dove into the internet and started searching shelters in the region. I looked at photos and profiles of every "used" dog in Montana and the surrounding states. Nowhere could I find "the" dog that matched what I wanted.

Over and again though, I kept coming back to a little nondescript black border collie cross named "Newt".

Still stubbornly looking for my "dream dog", I visited the shelter here in town, then called a breeder ad in the paper...and finally went over to Bozeman to see Newt.

I cannot say what it was about him...he didn't do anything bad...but he didn't do anything particularly good either. He did not bound up to me like a long lost friend and lick my face as fireworks went off. He came over, quietly said "hi" and then explored the room like any old dog. Somehow I knew, though.

Before taking the plunge, I wanted Ray to meet him and he would be working until Friday...so I asked the shelter if they would hold Newt until then (it was Wednesday). They agreed.

Shortly after I arrived home in Livingston, the phone rang...it was the shelter and someone wanted to adopt Newt. They told me that they were not supposed to hold Newt without a deposit. I explained that no one mentioned deposit to me and I would have happily paid one if they did.  They said "sorry".   I argued...making the point that I was trying to do the right thing and have the other household member meet him first. It took a couple of desperate phone calls and pleading with different staff members before they finally (albeit grudgingly) agreed to hold him until fifteen minutes after they opened on Friday ("NO later than that"). We showed up fifteen minutes before they opened...

Curious to see what Newt did when left on his own, I insisted we sneak in and "spy" on him. I did not want a barker...or a dog who neurotically paced nonstop when left alone. As we came around the corner, there was Newt...quietly sitting in the far end of his kennel with his back to us.

When I called him he limped over (he'd hurt his foot running outside), snuggled against the wire and started whimpering.

Ray said "NOPE, I will NOT have a whiny dog".
Ray never had a chance...he lost that battle before it even began.

A few minutes later, we were headed to Petsmart with Newt in the back seat. Little did we know that the whimpering was just a hint of the singsong vocalization that would be Newt's signature...

Many of you know Newt...so you know that there is no possible way to describe this special little soul in a reasonable number of words.

Newt makes everyone smile. He seems to worm his way into the hearts of every person, every creature, he meets.

He isn't just "my" dog.

In my opinion,
Newt belongs to the whole world.

He needs to be shared so he can touch and heal the hearts of as many people as possible.

Maybe this story about him says it best:
A couple of years ago at the Natureworks Show in Tulsa, Newt was sleeping in my booth while I sat in a director's chair on the opposite side of the aisle. Two kids, a boy about six and a slightly older girl, came into the booth.  The girl instantly flopped down by Newt and, to his delight, started cooing over him. The boy carefully petted him then came over to lean on the arm of my chair...he looked very serious. So I asked: "Do you have something to say to me?"
The boy replied "Yes. I do."

He gestured toward Newt and continued: "THAT dog is not a REAL dog...that dog is a SOUL dog". His Mother and I asked simultaneously "What do you mean by that?" He rolled his eyes at our apparent lack of common sense and said "WELL...a real dog is JUST a dog on the outside...but a soul dog is special on the INSIDE". That about sums up Newt:  Soul Dog.

Finding Newt was another lesson in listening to my heart and looking beyond the surface. Newt was nothing like the "dream dog" I was determinedly looking for. There was no spark of recognition (on either part) when we met, no "Oh my God, he's perfect", nothing notable at all about our first meeting...there was just a quiet voice that whispered "this is the one". Thank goodness I listened...

Newt might not have been the dog I thought I wanted on the outside...but he was the soul dog I needed on the inside.

Giggster Remembered (Part 2): Giggler's Travels

Whether Gig truly loved to travel...or simply tolerated it because he loved to be with me, I'll never know. Either way, anytime I began packing for a trip...he was there at my heels, sitting in the bags or hopping in the truck as I loaded.

As I criss-crossed the country marketing my art...Giggy co-piloted virtually every mile. Sometimes he made suggestions regarding navigation or driving technique. He probably saw more of this country than most people ever will...all 48 contignuous states, up to Northern Ontario and through Quebec.

To every one of those miles he brought his sense of adventure, boundless patience, insatiable curiosity and good natured companionship.

He was also an intrepid hiker who happily explored deserts, beaches, mountains and everything between.

Gig was a ham...

I'd say "Gig, go stand on that rock!"...and he would. Then he'd strike poses....usually a noble "hero" pose, look left, look right...

Even all my traveling wasn't enough to sate the Gig's wanderlust. Sometimes he went on walkabout. Once he ended up hanging out for part of the day with a parking lot attendant in his booth. Another time he wound up in the doctor's lounge in the basement of a hospital...I don't know how he got down there, but when I arrived to "rescue" him, he was on their lunch table...walking from doctor to doctor sharing their lunches. He spent a couple of days somewhere in a very bad part of Denver near my old house...a reward brought him back...but before that I walked every block of that "bad" neighboorhood knocking on doors and meeting some of the kindest strangers I'd ever encountered.


In Arizona he vanished one night...I searched most of the night and started again at dawn. I was heading toward the house for more "lost dog" flyers when i saw a truck driving slowly down the road. The older guy who was driving would stop in front of each house, point, and speak to his passenger. The passenger was Gig...and the driver was asking him which house he lived in. The gentleman said Gig had turned up at his house and "knocked" on the door. The guy let him in, offered Gig his favorite chair, cooked him dinner and, of course, let him sleep on the bed. Whith folks like this...who can blame the Gig for going "calling"? Nevertheless...he loved me best...and after every walkabout would leap excitedly into my arms as if to say "Where have YOU been?!"

Giggster Remembered (Part 1); Puppy Power

Twenty-five years ago today, a litter of Italian Greyhounds was born in Utah...six weeks later one of them found his way into my heart. He would be my companion for the next eighteen years.

Many of you knew this extraordinary little dog and so I hope you'll enjoy the next few posts as I take a little stroll down memory lane in his honor.

The first name I gave him was Montana, he was so small that he seemed to need a BIG name. It wouldn't last. This little dog always had a way of taking his life into his own paws and his name would be one of the first things he would change. He quickly became "The Giggler"...because he made everyone he met laugh out loud.

The Giggler, Giggy, Snarly Sneerhound, Poodle (because he was the UN-poodle) and Light-bulb-head were among the names he answered to.

From the beginning, he was captivatingly tenacious, gregarious and intelligent. He had a way of winning the heart of nearly everyone he met....except, maybe, Monster Cat.

When I was working a dog show in Denver, strangers kept coming to the booth and asking to hold the 7 week old Gig while they watched judging. He was passed through the crowd, cuddled by one person after another. I finally had to go and steal him back for fear that someone would take him home.

He spent his first two years running with the big dogs in the fields around our little cabin in Tennessee. A stray we called "96" was his first bad influence. 96 liked to roam...and he took the rest of the dogs with him when he could.

96's wandering ways only brought trouble for himself....but Giggy managed to worm his way into the hearts of the neighbors. One couple, in particular, owned "Meridee's" bakery in nearby Franklin and lived about a mile down the road. Their own dogs were not allowed on the furniture at all, but when Gig came to visit, he claimed their bed AND got cookies. In Giggy's world, everyone was a friend...

At home, the young Gig insinuated himself into the Alpha Dog position almost instantly. He did so with such grace, diplomacy and wry humor that the 65 pound Saluki (Max) never knew what hit him.

The only heat source in the cabin we lived in was one small electric heater. The quadruped crew loved to pile up in front of it...but if Max managed to secure the space in front of it first, no one else could fit.

The kitchen had doors on each end of a counter, so Gig would trot into the kitchen and rattle a food dish or play with a toy until Max came to investigate. As soon as Max came in one doorway, Gig would run out the other end and sprawl in front of the heater (soon to be joined by the cats). Poor Max would come back out, look at Gig and the cats in "his" spot, then heave a long, loud sigh and take his place at the back.

Giggy never knew he was a little dog. This only LOOKS vicious...but was just one of the games he played with Max. For all the bared teeth, they were remarkably gentle with one another.

One of Gig's best pals was "Dog George" a three legged rescue and incredibly good-natured old soul. Connoisseur that he was, Gig liked his rawhide bones "tenderized"...

He would bring George a new rawhide to work on...and when George had softened it up sufficiently, Gig would bring another new one and "trade" up.

Gig always had a sense of humor...he embraced his innate silliness, turned it to his advantage and brought smiles to everyone around him.


To be continued...