The cat who broke his leg

It was Memorial Weekend, 2003. Max showed up in a tree. I had hosted the family picnic and family members had just left. I heard a cat cry. I tracked the noise down to a tree in the backyard. A kitten was stuck in the tree, too scared to climb or jump down. I rescued the frightened animal and put it on the ground.

He was a beautiful kitten, perhaps the prettiest cat I had ever seen. An orange tabby with longish hair and a long fluffy tail. He had a mane like a lion and was probably only three or four months old. His fur was soft and shiny and he looked more like a lost house pet than a stray cat. I wondered how anyone could discard such a beautiful animal. Perhaps, he had strayed too far from home and was lost. I never knew. He didn't have a collar and no one came looking for him.

At this point in the year, my little farm had already been "invaded" by several stray cats. A queen decided to have kittens in my garage. I fed her so she could nourish her litter, but while I was able to tame her four kittens, she remained wild and unreachable.

As soon as they were old enough, I found a home for the kittens (one had mysteriously disappeared), but wound up taking the mother to the Humane Society. Better she be put to sleep than live the life of a stray and keep bringing kittens into the world that would probably remain homeless and worse yet, be abused or hit by a car.

Another cat took up residence in the hoop house. I named "him" Barney because he lived in the barn. Later, I found out that "he" was a girl, and probably a neutered one since he/she never had kittens of her own or attracted any male visitors.

Barney was never a problem, so I let her stay. I fed her and she never ventured too far from the hoop house. The sheep accepted her and let her share their space and water. She was always afraid of me, though she seemed to enjoy the few times I caught her and combed her matted fur. She was probably treated poorly in another part of her life. I found her dead in 2006. I never knew how old she was. I was sad to lose her.

After being rescued from the tree, Max followed me around, meowing as he walked. He would arch his back and rub against my legs. He was friendly and needy for attention. He wanted me to pick him up. I did. It soon became apparent that Max didn't have a home and wasn't going anywhere. He started sharing Barney's food, but Max wasn't content to stay in the hoop house. So, I started bringing Max into the house at night. He'd lay with me on the couch while I watched television or read a book. He had a personality that could make a cat-lover out of anyone. I thought of the Kenny Chesney song, "you had me from hello." Max did. Still does.

In reality, I had wanted to get another cat, an orange tabby, much like Max. But everytime I found one, usually on someone's farm, the owners would not relinquish it. It seems the orange cats always had the most personality. Of course, I already knew that, which is why I wanted one.

But I had a problem. I already had an orange tabby, a fat house cat named Rex. While Rex was a very good natured feline, it wasn't a surprise that he didn't like the intrusion of this young male cat, even one as sweet as Max. Thus, Max spent most of his time outside. Rex was the inside cat. Max was the outside cat. Barney was the barn cat. That's the way it was, the way it needed to be.

Everything changed after I had Max for five or six months. One day, upon returning home from work, I found Max on the garage floor in excruciating pain. I had no idea what had happened to him, only that he was in pain and needed to go to the vet.

He spent a painful night in the house. I was unable to comfort him or alleviate his pain. Eventually, he found a secluded place to be until I could take him to the vet the next morning. Rex seemed to understand the difficult situation and spent the night curled up on my bed.

Max had a broken right leg and needed surgery. The surgery was going to cost over $300. I call it the $500 leg because while Max was at the vet for surgery, he also needed shots and medicine for a runny eye. The total bill was over $500. Some of my family members thought I was crazy to spend $500 on a cat that didn't even live in the house. Little did they know, I would have paid a lot more. Cats like Max don't come around very often. He wasn't just a cat. He was special. He was put in that tree for a reason.

They put pins in Max's leg. Several pins because it was a bad break. Max was a good patient and awoke from the surgery hungry. When I brought him home, I put him in a dog crate to recuperate. In the house, of course. Rex kept a watchful eye on him, but seemed to understand the need for the intrusion. But, Max couldn't stay in the crate forever and with his bad leg I didn't want him going outside. Thus, Max became a house cat, after spending the rest of his recuperation on the couch. He hasn't spent a night outside since.

Eventually, the fur grew back on Max's leg. He was able to jump and play. Since the pins in Max's leg were never removed, his right leg is straight. He can't bend it. When Max walks, he kicks the leg out. It looks like he's goose-stepping. When he goes up stairs, he puts the leg out like a propeller. When he takes a bath, he shoots the right leg straight up into the air. He slides around on the laminated floors. It's funny to watch him run. It's not pretty. He's not as quick and agile as other cats, but he gets along very well with his disability.

Rex never accepted truly Max. They never fought, like male cats often do, but Max would often antagonize the much older Rex. In particular, he used to go up to Rex and wrap both paws around him as if he were hugging him. Rex didn't like someone invading his personal space. Sometimes, they would tumble around the floor in a ball. As Rex got older, his tolerence for Max grew, but I always intervened if I thought Max was bothering Rex. Both cats jockeyed for position on the bed at night. Sometimes, they also had to compete with my dog Sly who weighed over 80 lbs. and took up a lot of space. Sometimes, I wonder where I slept.

Rex died tragically during cancer surgery in 2005. He was 14. When Rex got sick, Max mostly left him alone. Max is now the cat of the house. Instead of antagonizing Rex, he plays with my dog, Zak. Nine times out of ten, it is Max who initiates the play. It is so much fun to watch them play. They never hurt each other and they seem to relish each other's company. Max gets along fine with my big guardian dog McComb. He enjoys life on a farm. The sheep still marvel at him with his striking looks and long, bushy tail.

I love Max's personability. He typifies why I love cats so much. Cats are so loving. They seem to know when you need their soft touch or the warmth of their sleeping body. They give a home a warm, cozy feeling. But they have two personalities, and I enjoy the mischievous part of their personalities almost as much as their warm, cuddly side. They are curious, independent, playful, ornery, and tricky. Max is all of these things and more.

Not long ago, I had Max in for his annual vaccinations. I asked the vet what he thought caused the injury to Max's leg. According to his notes, it was probably crushing injury. The vet thought Max was likely hit by a car.

I think about the life Max now has. He's allowed to go outside, though he has a curfew (darkness) and spends all of his nights in the house. He usually sleeps on my bed at night. He has full run of the house. He gets all the food he wants, canned food on the weekends, and treats frequently. I see to his every need and do almost everything he asks. Sometimes, I wonder if he didn't plan it all, endure pain for a day because he knew there would be a big payoff at the end. Only Max knows.

So far

Okay, so I'm back to my lists. So far, it's been an interesting year.

• The New England Patriots will play the New York Giants in Superbowl 42. The Pats beat the Chargers in the AFC title game, unexpectedly winning on the strength of their defense, not the arm of their playboy quarterback. Brady threw three picks. Now, he's nursing an injury and was photographed wearing a brace.
• The G men surprised the football world by beating the Green Bay Packers in one of the coldest games in NFL playoff history. I was cold just watching the game in my parent's toasty living room. I had to cover myself with two blankets. The previous week, the Pack beat the Seahawks in a fun frolic in the snow. I wonder if they'll ever put a dome over the stadium in Green Bay? Probably not. I guess the cheese hats'll keep those Packer fans warm.
• All the while, I was rooting for the venerable Brett Farve to return to the Super Bowl, but it was not to be. But don't count the Pack out. They are one of the NFL's youngest teams and Brett seems to have a lot of life left in his arm.
• Eli is playing like a Pro Bowl quarterback. Big Plaxico Burris was unstoppable in the frigid cold, constantly beating the Packer's Pro Bowl cornerback, long-haired Al Harris. Harris's only interception was called back due to pass interference. The Pat secondary better find a way to control Burris or it could prove to be a long afternoon for them.
• Don't count the Giants out. They played toe-to-toe with the Patriots in the final game of the regular season. You never know. If Eli matches Brady throw for throw . . .
• Nonetheless, I want the 17-0 Patriots to complete their perfect season and etch themselves into the record books as one of the best, if not best teams, in NFL history -- in all of sport's history. Eventually, Tom Brady will hold all the quarterback records. Joe Montana must be looking over his shoulder; Joe Namath, too, because of Brady's escapades off the field.
• I'm looking forward to the Superbowl commercials, especially the Budweiser ones, but not the half time entertainment (Tom Petty). I'll be in Dallas on Superbowl Sunday. I guess I'll be out of town during the Superbowl most years, since this is when the Southern Section of the American Society of Animal Science meets.
• Joe Gibbs retired as coach of the Washington Redskins. It was not totally unexpected, despite the year left on his contract. He took the 'Skins to the playoffs a few times during his second tenure as head coach, but could never put the team back into the Superbowl. Nice try, Joe. Good luck in retirement.
• Joe's replacement has not been announced yet. I've always assumed it would be high paid and well-thought of defensive coordinator, Greg Williams. The Ravens have a new head coach. Who cares?
• Oil hit $100 a barrel. Gas prices slipped back below $3 today. I put four new tires on the truck. My old Ford pick-up still runs well. I haven't bought a GPS unit yet -- can't decide on a model -- but I plan to.
• Heath Ledger was found dead, an apparent drug overdose. A fine young actor. Such a tragedy. I enjoyed his work in The Patriot, Four Feathers, and A Knight's Tale. He was good as a gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain, though it was hard for me to watch. At least the scenery was pretty and no sheep were harmed during the filming.
• Susan Pleshette died of natural causes. She'd fought cancer. She's best known for her role in the '70's Bob Newhart Show.
• My favorite song of the new year is "A Letter to Me," by Brad Pasley. In the song, Pasley gives advice to himself, as a 17 year old. "International Harvestor" by Craig Morgan is a catchy tune that is getting a lot play time on country radio. If you don't like his driving (in his International Harvestor)," then get back on the interstate!"
• I've read two excellent books from two of my favorite authors: "The Secret Servant" by Daniel Silva and "Stone Cold" by David Baldaci. I took a day to read each book. In the first book, Israeli assassin Gabriel Allon intervenes when the daughter of the U.S. Ambassador to Britain is kidnapped by terrorists. Stone Cold re-unites the Camel Club, some of my favorite characters. But this one has a tragic ending and I'm not sure they'll be any more Camel Club novels.
• January's been cold, but so far only one snowfall. Some of it's still on the ground. It's flurrying tonight. I hope we get at least one good snow this year, preferably on a Thursday or Sunday night.
• Three Republicans have won presidential primaries. Fred Thompson has dropped out of the race already. No wins for Rudy G. yet. McCain seems to be the GOP front runner, despite his age. The next big test is Florida. The Maryland primary is in February. I'm still undecided.
• Obama won in Iowa, but Hillary has regained the top spot for the Dems. Obama has some attractive qualities, but I don't think he has enough experience or mettle to lead the world's lone super power. Though I don't agree with most of her politics (or any Democrat that's running, for that matter), I think Hillary could probably handle this role. It's beginning to look like Clinton vs. McCain.
• President Bush visited the Middle East and promised an Israel-Palestine peace accord before his second term ends. Rhetoric or reality? Time will tell.
• American Idol has resumed.
• Beta fish #4, Aristotle is still alive.
• The screenwriters remain on strike. Still lots of reruns on the tube. I'm eager for Grey's Anatomy to return. In the last new episode, McDreamy and Meredith finally broke up. She didn't like him kissing a pretty nurse. Go figure.
• I'm sick of hearing about Brittany Spears. Would have been better her than Heath Ledger. Her kids would be better off without her and the rest of her family. I pity the children of celebrities. They're probbaly better off raised by nannies or sent away to boarding school.
• I've become addicted to reruns of Two and a Half Men -- back-to-back episodes starting at 7 p.m. The kid's the funniest part of the show.
• I've been to College Park twice. That's enough for the year.
• Zak ran away for 7 1/2 hours. He had a bath at Petsmart and took a dump in the toy aisle. Tic-Tac finally went home. She was a much better guest this year. Damon has another puppy for me, but I think I'll pass. Max is Max, mischievous and cuddly at the same time.
• The Maryland men's basketball team upset top ranked North Carolina on the Tarheel's home court. 4th ranked Duke is next on the agenda, a home game for the Terps.
• I visited Virginia Tech to speak, but couldn't find the memorial to the April 16th massacre during my quick drive around the Drill Field. I didn't have time to visit the book store.
• Maryland's six percent sales tax became a reality. I oppose ALL tax increases, especially ones that will never be repealed. O'Malley has certainly not earned my respect. As the bumper sticker on my truck says, "Don't blame me, I voted for Erhlich."
• The sheep are doing fine, eating and gestating. First lambs are due ~March 10. There will be a mess of them. I like the colored ones.

My 9-11-01

It's been more than six years since terrorists slammed planes into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, and United Flight 93 crashed into a field in rural Pennsylvania. Just a few days earlier, I was finishing up an international assignment (with CNFA) in Moldova. Little did I know what loomed ahead -- a punctuating end to the Cold War, with the first shots being fired in the new War on Terror. I guess I was lucky that I was able to fly home, because in a few days I wouldn't have been able to, at least not until after a long delay.

Like many people who remember where they were when Presidents Kennedy and Reagan were shot, I remember where I was when the 9-11 attacks occurred. I was attending a "Small Grain" breakfast (for farmers) at the Holiday Inn in Salisbury. I was in class at Ohio State University when Reagan was shot and in the playpen (I don't actually remember) when JFK was assassinated. When I got back to my office on September 11, 2001, I became glued to a TV, waiting to learn the plight of Flight 93 and the twin towers. Seeing the towers crumble to the ground is a site that I can never forget.

Recently, I watched a movie about United Flight 93. There are two movies. I saw the made-for-TV movie. It was very good. I thought the filmmakers handled a delicate subject very well. They were respectful. They avoided politics. They used unknown actors, no special effects, and took few creative liberties. To their credit, they did not show the plane crashing. Mostly, the movie moved back and forth between the families of the victims and the activity that took place on the plane.

Our primary insight into what happened on Flight 93 comes from the cell phone conversations between the doomed passengers and their families and the recording of the flight box. Flight 93 is a difficult film to watch, but at the same time triumphant. We don't know exactly what transpired in the air, but there is compelling evidence to suggest that the passengers and crew fought back against their aggressors. They may indeed have prevented an attack on the White House, Capitol, or another important government installation. Even if they didn't, they were courageous and all died heroes.

A month after 9-11, I traveled to New Jersey and New York City to participate in a tour organized by Cornell University to learn about sheep and goat marketing. We visited many places that were owned and frequented by Muslims. We were told that Muslims were staying inside, concerned for their safety. Strangely, 9-11 had an impact on the sheep and goat markets, since Muslims are a major consumer of both meats. We saw many American flags hung in the windows of stores and butchers shops, including on many Halal shops. We ate dinner at a white table cloth restaurant in Manhattan, then traveled as close to Ground Zero, as was possible. We could see the smoke. It was a strange feeling. Very eery.

A couple of years ago, I attended the retirement ceremony of the wife of a friend of mine. The ceremony was held at the Pentagon. She was retiring from the Army. While there, besides touring the massive facility that symbolizes American military might, we saw the memorial to the victims of the 9-11 tragedy. Construction had not yet begun on the memorial park, which will honor each victim of the attack.

I generally supported the decisions to employ military action in Afghanistan, then Iraq. I know that things have not gone as well as we would have liked, but we have made progress and need to remain steadfast in our support of these fledgling governments. Since Europe, the media, and public are so opposed to the war in Iraq (and probably would be opposed to any war, not matter how noble a cause), it's hard to know exactly what is going on or if we are even doing the right thing. History will be the only judge. In the meantime, I stand with my President and our men and women in the armed forces.

Yet, while military action might offer a short-term solution, I think the long term solution is far more complex. I believe energy independence to be the most important part of the solution. We've got to stop waging war for OIL. Energy independence will take many years to accomplish. I hope it could happen in my lifetime. It will take political will. I'm not sure we have it. It will require the cooperation of the public and private sectors. All energy sources and policies will need to be on the table. It will require sacrifice on the part of all Americans, sacrifices I'm not sure most Americans are willing to make. The American public complains about Bush's war in Iraq while driving their big SUVs and lawn tractors and heating their big houses -- with Saudi and Iraqi oil. Movie stars are the biggest hippocrits, living in their big mansions and jetting around the world in their private airplanes. I wonder what percentage of our gas expenditures end up in the hands of terrorists?

At the same time, a reduced dependence on Middle Eastern oil is not likley to eliminate ALL potential conflict between East and West. Israel is an imporant American ally and we will stand by her side. Israel is a Democratic nation that has a right to exist, as does Palestine. Perhaps, creating a Palestinian state and making Jerusalem an international city would resolve this long-standing conflict between Jews (and Americans, by association) and Muslims.

Even if oil is out of the picture, the U.S. will (and should ) always be concerned about rogue nations (or the terrorists they "breed" and/or support) having or pursuing weapons of mass destruction. At the same time, it is probably small arms which are the greatest weapons of mass destruction, yet we freely trade them with these nations. There needs to some consistency in our policies. I'm probably asking for too much. After all, we supported Bin Laden in the Afghan War and helped give rise to the Taliban. We tolerate human rights abuses in Saudi Arabia and Egypt because they are our "allies" -- but hunted down Saddam Hussein for his. Egypt is no more a democracy than Iran. Saudi Arabia practices a very strict form of Islam and considers women and children to be household property.

I hope we will always be concerned about human rights and not let "cultural differences" allow women and others be be persecuted in the name of religion freedom. Perhaps, we'd find more success in our foreign policy if we were concerned as much about the situation of women and other ordinary people in these countries as we are about the source of our next barrel or oil. Our future depends upon the plight of the youth in these countries. How can we encourage these young men (boys, really) to pursue a path different than the hate and intolerence they're being taught in "religious" schools? We'll need more than the promise of 72 virgins. How do we empower young Muslim women? Our policies need more balance. I'm not opposed to the use military force, but we need to work other avenues as well. Books instead of bullets. Education instead of occupation.

If I was a journalist, I'd always refer to the terrorists as godless, women-hating cowards who exploit poor, uneducated people to promote their perverted interpretation of Islam. While it may take courage to die for your cause, I think it takes more courage to stay alive and stand up for your beliefs. Not to mention that suicide is forbidden in the Qur'an. Of course, the "real" terrorists aren't the ones who strap bombs to their bodies or drive planes into buildings. They're the ones that recruit "followers" and plan the attacks, while safely sipping tea and watching CNN in their bunkers. Talk about cowards!

I'd never write or say anything about Islam, because terrorism isn't about religion anymore than Nazism was about Christianity. The God (Allah) that Jews, Christians, and Muslims ALL worship does not condone the taking of innocent women and children and other non-combatants. Period. Unfortunately, like the Bible, the Qur'an can be taken out of context, giving hopeless young men a twisted "justification" for their criminal actions.

Nowadays, we often talk about the pre and post-9-11 eras. It's often asked if we feel safer since 9-11. I do. I think. I know that a lot is being done to prevent acts of terrorism here and on foreign soil. There's a lot that we don't even know about. Though I get irritated when I go through airport security -- especially when they take my toothpaste -- I'm sure that security measures are having an effect. I'm also realistic. Unless we and our European allies become police states -- which we don't want -- there's no way to prevent acts of terrorism 100% of the time. It's the world we live in. I understand. We all need to.

I would like to visit the crash site and memorial in Shanksville, PA. I would like to visit Ground Zero in New York City. I want to see the Pentagon Memorial Park when it is finished. I don't think visits to these sights would be enjoyable. It's like when I visited the concentration camp in Auschwitz, Poland -- it's a moral obligation. We always need to remember our dead and learn from our mistakes.

While I'm proud of the passengers and crew of Flight 93, the firemen, policemen, and others who responded to the heinous attacks of 9-11, and I grieve for the families and friends of the victims, I am disgusted by some of the 9-11 aftermath: complaints about the memorials, squables over compensation to the victims, rescue workers, and their families, ridiculous conspiracy theories, political manuvering and partisanship, criticism of our government's response to the attacks, and endless lawsuits.

While dying due to a terrorist attack or during the response to a terrorist attack is horrible, it's no more dead than when a soldier is killed, a child's parent is killed by a drunk driver, or someone's spouse loses their battle to cancer. I, for one, would rather have seen those billions of dollars spent on erecting memorials, taking care of our men and women in uniform, and generally protecting our nation from future acts of terrorism.

In the end, the blame for 9-11 lies solely with the terrorists and those who support them with their money, rhetoric, and/or silence.

Seven and a half hours

Seven and a half hours. That's how long my dog, Zak, was missing last night. He slipped away from me when I was trying to latch the flex lead onto his collar. With freedom in sight, he ran from me, away from me, down the driveway, out to the road, in and out of neighbor's yards, to destinations unknown.

During the 7 1/2-hour vigil, I experienced a wide range of emotions: worry, sadness, anger, selfishness, relief, and elation. Mostly, I worried that Zak would be hit by a car. He's not street-smart, and I've already had three dogs killed in this manner. Jack, a Border Collie, was the first dog that was my very own. He was hit by a car in front of our house. I had to watch him die at the veterinary clinic where I worked. Cage #23. I'll never forget. Jack was not even two years old when he was snatched from my childhood.

After I bought my first house in 1989, the first thing I did was get a dog. Sam was a pound puppy, a German Shepherd/Terrier mix, with buff, wiry fur and erect ears. A good watch dog and a great companion. One night, I let Sam out to do her business. I fell asleep and didn't awake until after midnight. I got concerned when Sam didn't come when I called her; she always did. She was very obedient. I saw the answering machine blinking and my heart sank. There was a message about Sam. She had been hit by a car and was dead. My sweet Sam, the dog who'd accompanied me the previous year on my 7,000 mile cross-country odyessy.

It's been almost three years since Sly was killed on the road in front of the neighbor's house. Sly was a rebound dog, a German Shepherd/Black Lab mix that a friend found in a newspaper ad. I got her a few weeks after I lost Sam. Sly sometimes "escaped" before I brought her in for the evening. Usually when this happened, she'd run around the yard for five or ten minutes, looking for bunnies or anything else that moved under the fir trees. Like always, after a few minutes of freedom, I figured she'd be at the front door, begging to come inside for the night. So, I went in.

After about five minutes, I started calling her again. No response. Not that unusual for Sly. After she'd been gone for about ten minutes, I started calling again. I was getting a bit worried. I noticed a commotion down by the road. I knew instantly. A young man started walking up the driveway. He had hit Sly. He was very apologetic. A black dog, loose on the road, at night. It wasn't his fault. But, Sly was gone. She was a good dog. Eighty-five pounds of boundless energy, with a heart of gold.

Even if Zak wasn't hit by a car, I worried that he couldn't find his way home in the dark. If he ventured too far, I worried that he wouldn't be able to find his way home when daylight broke. What if he got into some kind of trouble? If somebody hurt him? Stole him? I worried that Zak didn't "love" or need me enough to come home. Maybe he would run away, run away from me forever. Then, I was mad that Zak ran from me, that he didn't come when I called him. I do everything for him. How could he betray me? Sly was the same way.

I experienced sadness. I couldn't image life without Zak, that goofy, sad-eyed mutt that was given to me by a friend, shortly after Sly was killed. It was an accidental litter. Zak's dad was a Tibetan Mastiff named Mongus, a working livestock guardian. Mongus inpregnanted my friend's Border Collie. Zak was the result. I was concerned about getting a rambunctious Border Collie pup, but my friend assured me that Zak was a calm, docile puppy, the runt of the litter.

When I got Zak, he weighed a mere 2 1/2 pounds and was full of worms. I called him a "puppling." He wasn't big enough to be a puppy. He looked like a skunk. Now, Zak is almost three years old. He weighs about 65 lbs., halfway between his Mastiff dad and his Border Collie mom. He's a beautiful dog with a beautiful personality. While his personality is probably more like an affable guardian dog, Zak's not lazy, he just conserves his energy. He loves to run and play, but isn't non-stop like many dogs or breeds. Like Sly. In fact, he's the perfect dog for me. Like Sam.

Everything in my house reminds me of Zak. I remember the first night I had him. He fell off the couch and cried. Now, the couch is one of his favorite spots. He's usually up on the couch when I'm watching TV or working on my laptop computer in the evening. He also likes curling up on the chair beside the front door, sometimes forgetting that Max is already there. When I go to work in the computer room, Zak usually follows me. Zak used to be afraid of steps and doors, but not anymore. Unlike Sam and Sly, Zak doesn't enjoy riding in the car. If the roads are too bumpy, he tosses his cookies. He drools a lot and gets the seat soaked. He tries to get into the front seat with me.

Zak's toys and bones are everywhere unless I put them away. He loves to drop his bones on the laminated floors, making a big sound. After which, he looks at me innocently for a reaction: who me? Zak's bed lays beside mine. Sometimes, he sleeps on my bed with me and Max. This past Christmas, my dad made a stand (out of oak) that holds Zak's water and food bowls. Zak loves to lay in between the vertical blinds in the dining room. When he was a pup, he chewed on the legs of the dining room table chairs. He ate the remote control for the DVD and ripped the whiskers from the teddy bear that sits on the bench in the living room. He and Max love to play. He and McComb are best buddies.

After Zak ran away, I searched for him for several hours, both on foot and in my car. My dad helped, so did a few neighbors. It's not very easy to find a mostly black dog in the dark. Eventually, we had to give up and hope that he'd come home on his own, or we'd resume searching in the morning. I slept on the living room couch so I'd know when he came home. I kept all the outside lights on, so Zak could find his way home and know that I was waiting for him. When McComb barked, I assumed he was calling Zak home. I woke every hour and checked to see if Zak had come home. In my dreams, Zak came home. But, he hadn't yet. What if he didn't? I thought about the people who put signs up for their lost dogs. I thought about the lost dog ads in the newspaper. How much reward would I offer?

As Zak was running around the neighborhood, I felt a little bit selfish, too. Zak is never free. He's either on the leash, in the house, in his kennel, or in a fenced pasture with McComb. Don't get me wrong. I don't think dogs should be allowed to run free. Today's world doesn't permit it. But that doesn't mean dogs don't yearn to run free and explore everything that they see, hear, or smell. Dogs gave up a lot when they "agreed" to domestication.

I don't let Zak do many of the things he likes to do or would like to do. He likes to get specimens from the compost pile. Can't let him do that. He likes to go in the basement and clean out Max's litter box or see what he can find in the trash. Can't let him do that. He wants to chase bunnies, but he can't catch one or even give it a good chase at the end of a flex lead. At least, I still let him drink water from the toilet.

One of my best memories of Sly is when I would take her to my parents' place, to the pond at the back of their property. Part Lab, Sly adored the water. It was so much fun to watch her swim around the pond and retrieve whatever I threw. She'd shake the water off her fur and eagerly plunge back into the water for another swim. She never seemed happier. Nothing was more natural for her. I need to find a similar activity for Zak, something that will allow him to express his natural doggy behavior more. I scoff at people who think they are giving their dogs a better life when they treat them more like people. Yes, Zak likes sleeping on the couch, but I bet he'd rather chase bunnies or play tug-of-war with afterbirth -- at least before bedtime. He ran from me because he wanted to be a dog for awhile. If only it wasn't so dangerous for him and hard on me.

At 3:30 a.m., I awoke to a clunking sound on the deck. I immediately got up and went to the side door. There was Zak. I knelt down and Zak came to me. I wasn't mad at him. I was relieved that he had come home. The clunk was a dead cat. Zak had brought home a dead cat. It was frozen, partially eviserated, and appeared to have been dead for awhile. I couldn't imagine that Zak would kill a cat. I doubt he did. He's never shown any aggression to another animal. And, he loves Max. No, this was a gift for me, as if Zak was asking for my forgiveness. I immediately thought of the book, "1001 Uses for a Dead Cat." A gift, when you don't know what else to give.

Once in the house, Zak ate heartily. He ate so fast, I figured it wouldn't stay down for very long, but it did. I examined my dog. My usually clean, nice-smelling pooch had an odor about him. He was a little dirty from his escapades. He was still pretty wired, still interested in what was going on outside, not sure he wouldn't still rather be roaming freely. I think he enjoyed his romp, but eventually got tired or hungry -- or maybe he realized that running is fun, but he belongs home with me, Max, and McComb. Eventually, he curled up on the chair in the living room and fell asleep, as did I.

Several hours later, daylight came. My heart was filed with elation as I looked over and saw Zak asleep on the chair, remembering what had happened. Max was asleep on the couch with me, and all was well in the world again. The three of us slept for awhile more, putting off the start of a new day. Once awake, Zak didn't seem his perky self, as if he was experiencing remorse, not sure if I had forgiven him yet. If he could talk, perhaps he would say "Okay, so I was bad. But I got you a cat. I know you like cats. It took me awhile to find one. Is all forgiven?"

All is forgiven, but I didn't enjoy those seven and a half hours. And I prefer orange cats that are alive, not frozen.

Goals for 2008

It would seem that I like to create lists. So, here's another one: my goals for 2008.

• Eat healthier
• Exercise more
• More exercise for George (pet sheep) and Zak (dog)
• Procrastinate less
• Maintain a cleanier, tidier house
• No speeding tickets, parking tickets, or fender benders
• More random acts of kindness
• Get another good year out of both of my vehicles
• Finish paying off new deck
• Paint kitchen
• Paint gates and feeders
• Manage pastures better
• Enroll flock in NSIP
• Give Zak a bath, maybe two
• Take up another hobby
• Write more
• Take more pictures
• Make more money
• Go to New Zealand
• Watch the Washington Redskins win the Superbowl