He was a good dog

Truth be told, there are only good dogs. Those we might call bad dogs got that way through bad training or bad treatment. Dogs are inherently good, inherently loving, inherently devoted to making us feel better. They want nothing in return but a minimum of care and a bit of love, and even when we withhold it, they don't. The only bumper sticker I've seen recently that I was tempted to put on my car reads “The more people I meet, the more I like my dogs.”

Lucky was not overly affectionate. We got him when he was two and so we knew nothing about how he was treated for those first years. He was a bit shy at the beginning, but warmed up to us pretty quickly. He was gentle with people, and with other dogs, allowing Tasha to retain her role as Alpha dog, even though she was a female. He tolerated Cassie's non-stop energy and came to enjoy playing with her, but was fiercely protective if she tried to come between him and me, or him and Ransom. If I had to choose one word to describe him, I would say he was sweet. A very gentle and sweet dog.

Lucky was also “my dog.” He was devoted to both Ransom and me, as we were to him, but he bonded with me first and, with Ransom traveling as much as he did, Lucky shared my loneliness. We used to sit and listen to “Lover Come Back” and sigh long breaths of melancholy despair. OK, that's not true, but I always had the sense that Lucky knew the pack was not whole when Ransom was traveling and that he expressed that by cuddling with me and loving me extra hard to make up for Ransom's absence.

I'm sad that he's gone, and I'm angry. He was only seven years old. It's not fair!

Well, of course it's not, because life is not fair. I know that's a cliché, but I believe it. I am NOT an optimist. Some say I am a pessimist, but I think of myself as a realist. I've had six decades of seeing how the world works and I have yet to see a basis for optimism. There's good in the world, yes; and I know I have been blessed more than I deserve, but I still think that at its core humanity is a pretty dark and mean life form and that Thoreau was on to something when he said most of us “lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Lucky was diagnosed at the end of June with cancer in two organs. We were told that he could die within a day or two. My friend Joe, when he heard that Lucky was gone said “well, he sure lived up to his name, lasting three months longer than you expected.” I guess Joe's an optimist. Personally, I thought Lucky was ill-named. We were the lucky ones, getting to share our lives with him these last five years. His will be the fourth grave on our property. He was a good dog.

Lucky

14 July 2003 - 27 September 2010

Very little to add

Every now and then someone says it better than I ever will. Well, in fact, very often someone says it better than I ever will. This New Yorker cartoon from the September 20, 2010, issue is a good example. It's pithy, sarcastic and accurate all at once -- qualities I daily strive to exhibit.

The View from 62

I've been rather quiet lately. Anyone who knows me understands I don't believe in the old saw “if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing;” but that, in fact, is what has kept me quiet. Everywhere I looked the news was bad; I was too disgusted to write anything that was more than a rant against homophobes, Tea Partiers, Republicans and all the other small-minded people hijacking the news lately. From the Pope and his empty apologies to the crazy Christian and his Koran burning to Karl Rove coming to Yale and pretending he deserves to live . . . it all just seemed too much, so I've been quiet. But the old Walter will be back, I promise.

Tonight though I want to talk about love and friendship and how blessed I have been with both.

Friendship has been important to me since I can remember. I met Ricky in the third grade and we became intensely close even at that young age. We don't see each other much, but we are still close and still love each other a lot. Then there was Gary Winston in Japan, a friend I have not seen in 47 years but still miss and wonder about, and Will Buergey, who grew up to be a Delta pilot and then the head of the pilot's union; haven't seen him in 45 years, but we're still in touch and that means a lot to me.

There's Don, who I first knew as a teenager and who has been my best friend for 45 years. And TMcD, Liz and their son Dan, whom I have blogged about before; Tom I met at Notre Dame in 1969. Dave I met the year before and John back in 1966 – all still good Notre Dame friends. There's Elaine, my “sister” from Atlanta, 1963, who I took a cruise with a few years ago and look forward to seeing soon.

And here in CT there's Suzanne and Mike, my oldest friends at Yale; Judy, my once-upon-a-time boss and now dear friend; another Judy, a new friend whose office is next to mine; Leigh, Rich, Karrie and Robert, fine people I met at church; Sergio, a former flute student, an excellent cook and an even more excellent QE2 travel mate.

And why do I mention this last group? Because they all celebrated my birthday with me tonight and I am grateful to them.

Even more gratitude goes to my husband Ransom, who set up tonight's party. He booked a Thimble Islands Cruise, telling me only that we were going out to dinner. It was a wonderful surprise made even better by all the fabulous food these folks brought. As I said on Facebook a bit ago, “I do have the best husband ever!”

So right now, tonight, the view from 62 looks pretty damn good.