Bye Bye Baloo

Me and Baloo.
Photo by Ramin Rahimian

My best friend died this morning. He was almost 14 years old, and hairy as all get out. He was my Golden Retriever, Baloo.

Baloo being mysterious on a frozen pond.
Photo: Liat Batshira

He didn't start out as mine. He came to Dancing Rabbit with Jess Mund, who, when pregnant and uncertain about where she and her new family would live, agreed to let me have him. It was the very best gift I have ever received, and one for which I will ALWAYS be grateful. Thank you again, Jess.

Kurt and I first met Baloo in June of 1999 when we arrived at DR. We were all living in tents at the time. Every morning Baloo would poke his nose into our tent to say hello. "Oh," we thought, "he likes us best!" Later on we would find that he was an equal opportunity greeter - he stopped by everyone's tent every morning.

Jess was incredibly unselfish about sharing Baloo. As a retriever he was obsessed with sticks and balls and mud clods and rocks and anything else that could be hauled in his mouth from point A to point B. This was an especially fun game in the pond. There were some summers when we wondered if he was mildewing from all of the time he spent in the water.

Playing with Tim Johnson, 2005 (?)

Jess and Baloo had trained to do search and rescue, and since Baloo was the smartest dog on the planet (sorry, I'm a bit biased) he retained much of his early enthusiasm for searching. He wasn't always so great at the actual finding, but that didn't deter him.

Baloo had a secret life that we knew nothing about. Here he is sledding with Ziggy and Thomas.
Photo: Liat Batshira

Baloo was luck to have many, many friends here at Dancing Rabbit. Tom Cowen and Thomas Kortkamp have both spent twokazillion hours playing fetch with him. Sparky was his "au pair" and he adored her. Meadow claimed he was her spiritual leader, and he adored her, too. Actually, Baloo adored everyone, which was part of his charm. He was great with kids, except when he knocked them down with his wagging tail, which was entirely unintentional. He was a great ambassador for Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

"Snow? What's the problem? Get out here and throw something!"

Before Baloo came into our lives, I had always wanted a dog. But not just any dog. I wanted one of those dogs who would hang out with me, be by my side always, not have to be on a leash because we were hanging out together. I didn't think it was actually possible, but Baloo made it so. He decided that I was the one, and everywhere I went, Baloo went, too. People used to joke that they always knew what building I was in because Baloo would be waiting patiently outside. At home, as I roamed from room to room, he did too. (When our cat, Fionn MacCool joined our family, he also joined the parade. Going to the bathroom became a spectator event - all the animals followed me in, sat down, and enjoyed the show. What can I say - we're all easily entertained!). Baloo came with us back and forth across the country many times, on trips to California and Oregon. He was a great traveling companion. He slept at the head of our bed (tucked under the eaves), he would lay by my desk while I worked, and generally never be more than five feet away.

With a toy given to him by a Mercantile guest.
Photo by Sequoia Rock

Kurt likes to say that you can learn all that you need to learn about life from a dog like Baloo. I'm inclined to agree, except for the parts that involve rolling around in dead raccoons.

"Hey, I'll drive!" says Baloo, on his way across the country yet again...

He's been slowing down a lot lately. Two weeks ago he no longer had the strength to get himself out of the pond. We compensated by using the garden hose on him in the afternoons in this horribly hot weather - it seemed to help him cool off a bit. On Thursday morning he refused his food, but did drink water. We talked to the vet who, through a lot of euphimisms, said that if he didn't eat (if we couldn't use a syringe and get some nourishment into him) he might suffer a slow death from starvation. She said that she could make a "farm visit" the next day if we wished. Which meant euthanasia.

Whoever said that balls don't grow on trees clearly had never seen a hedge apple (osage orange) tree. You can imagine Baloo's excitement at discovering such a marvel very close to our house. The only problem was: how to choose?

"OK. I like this one. Throw it please!"

Baloo lay in the Mercantile all day, and then dragged himself back to the cottage - his back legs had pretty much stopped working. He reclined in the same place, on the cool concrete floor for hours. About 3:00 a.m. we had a big thunder storm so I brought a quilt and pillow downstairs (for me) and slept by him - he hated storms. At 8:00 a.m. we called the vet. Word spread, and the loving, caring Rabbits trickled in to say good-bye. There is something tremendously comforting in having so many people love and care for your dog. There were tears, and hugs, and lots of caresses, mostly for Baloo, but for us, too.

We drove back and forth from Missouri to California and back several times. Not only was Baloo a great sport he actually LOVED riding in the car. On this trip Kurt rigged up the luggage in the back seat so that Baloo could ride at our "level," since he was always trying to skooch up into the front seat anyways.

At 11:00 a.m. our very kind vet came by and after a gentle but thorough exam agreed that our decision was the kind and compassionate one. She administered a sedative, and then another injection. In ten minutes Baloo was gone.

Thomas had dug a grave under our solar panels in the garden while we were waiting for the vet. A few of us carried Baloo out, wrapped in a sheet, and buried him with his rubber duck and some flowers. Many people came back and helped cover him with dirt. There were more tears, and hugs.

We'll have a celebration of Baloo on Monday. But I suspect it will take a lot longer to get over the reflex of calling him when I get ready to leave the house, or reaching to pet him before I go to sleep.

Good bye Baloo. I'll miss you, more than you'll ever know.



Us Two
by A. A. Milne

NOTE: Not having the opportunity to ever know Baloo, A.A. Milne wrote this poem (from the view point of Christopher Robin) about Pooh. I have taken quite appalling liberties with this poem to suit my own needs. Somehow, I don't think Mr. Milne would mind...

Wherever I am, there's always Baloo,
There's always Baloo and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Baloo:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Baloo, says he.
"Let's go together," says Baloo.

"What's twice eleven?" I said to Baloo.
("Twice what?" said Baloo to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Baloo.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Baloo, said he.
"That's what it is," said Baloo.

"Let's look for dragons," I said to Baloo.
"Yes, let's," said Baloo to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Baloo.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Baloo, said he.
"That's what they are," said Baloo.

"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Baloo.
"That's right," said Baloo to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Baloo,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.
"I wasn't afraid," said Baloo, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."

So wherever I am, there's always Baloo,
There's always Baloo and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Baloo,
"If it wasn't for you," and Baloo said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Baloo, says he.
"That's how it is," says Baloo.

Ready to rumble at a Squire cousin reunion, 2005

A Dog-Shaped Hole in my Heart

Baloo truly believes that Osage Oranges were created just for him.

I have two amazing animals. Baloo is a golden retriever who loves sticks, balls, but most of all, he loves me. When we go for walks he stays right by my side without a leash; when I go in a building he sits in front of the door and waits for me to come back out. He pops his nose up to the bed for a morning snuffle, and curls up at the end of the bed each evening. In between, he lies at my feet, and stares at me. He is a delight, and a joy.

We didn’t know that we needed a cat, but Suzanne Schroedl did. When an orange cat appeared in Dancing Rabbit’s machine shed, Suzanne set about finding him a home. Each day she would stop by our house, cat in her arms, and inquire “hey Alline, don’t you want a cat?” I would inform her that no, I am allergic to cats, I already have a dog, thank you very much, now go away.

Suzanne, the cat whisperer.

This went on for weeks.

Then one day Kurt and I were in the machine shed, picking up after some moron, um, I mean, fellow community member who had poured a bunch of loose packing peanuts into a trash can without a lid. We were raking and sweeping up the peanuts when the orange striped cat appeared and began to play. He leapt over the rake, ran around us in circles, and was generally hilarious. After that it was pretty much a done deal. As for the allergies: heck, I’m already allergic to straw (I live in a strawbale house), dust (I don’t clean), and pollen (solved by better living through chemistry). What was one more allergen, especially one with so much personality?

Fionn MacCool, happy at last.

So Fionn MacCool came to live with us, and is better than TV. We have learned that we did, indeed, need a cat. We have also learned that cats see things that are invisible to mere mortals. This causes Fionn (pronounced “Finn”) to run full speed up and down the stairs, to pounce on and kill what appear to be dust motes, and to sit on all books, magazines and newspapers that are being read. He never met a box that he didn’t love – size is no object, small is good, especially when all that can fit into it is his head. Best of all, after watching Baloo “sit” before eating dinner, Fionn now responds to the command “sit” before being given his dinner. It is pretty amazing to watch. We will always be grateful to Suzanne for her insight and persistence. Now that she's living in Massachusetts I wonder if she still goes door to door with cute cats?

So what the heck is my problem? Ah, yes.

A year and a half ago a big, gawky puppy, looking like she was put together with spare dog parts, wandered into Dancing Rabbit. Our animal-loving friend adopted her, primarily to keep The Girl from going to the pound, where she would most likely have been euthanized (rural Northeastern Missouri is a tough place to be an animal). Unfortunately, our friend didn’t know that dogs are pack animals and being isolated feels like punishment. And for the next year and a half The Girl was often tied up behind our friend’s house. When she’d bark for attention she’d get a “shush”, if anything. Often our friend was gone all day, leaving The Girl tied up outside for hours and hours. When her barking became especially insistent, we’d go check on her and find her lead wrapped around a tree, or her water bowl empty and dry as a bone. And The Girl was never trained. She doesn’t come when she’s called. Walking her on a leash is an exercise in arm dislocation. I was distraught each time she was tied up, but there seemed to be nothing that I could do besides talk to her, untangle her and fill her water bowl. It was a sad, depressing situation.

But a few weeks ago our friend was hospitalized, and we took The Girl in. Without expecting to, we fell totally, completely, head-over-heels in love. Within a day she was sitting on command so that we put on her leash to go on walks. With a retractable leash she was a breeze to handle. She comes when we call her. She has learned to stay out of the kitchen, to “lie down,” to not jump up on people. She is remarkably calm – we had three meetings here and she took a nap at my feet during the three long discussions. She proved to be highly-intelligent, eager to please, thrilled to particpate, and amazingly easy to train. While she was with us, I took the two dogs on three long walks a day, and also took them both everywhere I went – to the mailbox, to visit Meadow, to hang out the laundry, to bring treats to the construction guys in the Mercantile. I knew I liked having one dog, but having two was even better! Our walks were a blast. One of my favorite things to do was to take them out to the Ultimate Frisbee field each night, when the sky was dark but the stars were bright. We could all walk around without worrying about tripping, and look at the stars. I’m pretty sure the dogs didn’t care about the stars (or about tripping, either), but I did, and it was magical. The Girl is filled with life and energy, and Baloo fell in love with her, too. We’ve never seen him play with a dog before – he’d been habituated to humans instead of dogs before we got him – but with The Girl he played. The two of them (both weighing in excess of 65 pounds) would tear around the house, wrestle, roll around…I swear, they were practically giggling.

When our friend returned home from the hospital and received additional bad news about her health, it seemed kind of crazy for her to keep this big, active dog in her small room, along with her two not-very-healthy cats. So Kurt and I offered to adopt her. Our goal was to train her so that she would behave well enough to have “off-leash” status, to make her a part of our family, to socialize her and let her experience as much joy-filled life as we could provide.

Our friend gave it lots of thought, but in the end said she would miss The Girl, and wanted to keep her.

Which should be fine with me. The Girl is, after all, her dog; I need to respect that. But I am miserable.

I feel incredibly selfish. Our friend is learning how to take care of dogs, and has not tied up The Girl outside since returning home from the hospital. She has hired another community member to walk her once a day. I am hopeful that The Girl will receive a lot more attention than she has in the past. And I need to let it go. But it gnaws at me. Baloo misses her too. Even the cat, whose head she would place in her mouth (much like a circus performer) keeps looking for her.

On a walk

So I am working hard on gratitude today. My life is really is filled with innumerable blessings. I have the best husband in the world, amazing pets, a home I love, a business poised to take off, a fabulous friend who comes each day to help us get stuff done, a supportive community of friends and neighbors, good health, cute shoes, and a stash of Dr. Pepper and organic chocolate. For all of this I am grateful. I am working on being grateful that our friend wants and loves The Girl. I am working on accepting that The Girl does not have to be a part of our family to lead a rich, full life. I am working on understanding that I cannot control what happens in my life, and being grateful for the twists, turns and lessons learned on my path. I am working on it, but haven’t gotten there yet…

Oy, vey, Mondays!

As Kurt is fond of saying, if it's not one thing, it's two things. And by golly, two is where I'd like to stop, thank you very much!

Today is a balmy 12 degrees, and Kurt thought that the problems he was having with his computer were related to, oh, I don't know, icicles forming on the hard drive. But when it began making all kinds of noises, we knew there was trouble. Off he headed, computer in hand, to Skyhouse, land of Computer Geeks. (May I just pause to say how much I love and am grateful for Computer Geeks?).

When Kurt returned, we were standing in our kitchen. As he was telling me that his hard drive was indeed dead as a doornail, we began hearing a most peculiar noise. This was not Kurt's computer. It sounded like water pouring somewhere, which we've learned is never a good thing unless you are laying in the sun next to a waterfall on Maui.

We dashed into Kurt's office and watched gallons of water cascading from the ceiling. The only ceiling in the house, I might add, which has been completely sheet rocked, sanded, and painted. I dashed upstairs, thinking that somehow we'd sprung a leak in our roof (I don't know about you, but I don't always think clearly when water is pouring onto my furniture) but it was dry as a bone. Kurt ran to turn off the water pressure, grabbed some buckets, and then we moved the new sofa bed that was soaking up most of the water.

Kurt is now upstairs ripping up the flooring in our bedroom, which is directly above his office, trying to find the source of the leak. He is a bit like Nancy Drew, only without the red convertible. Of course the leak wasn't where he originally suspected, so our reclaimed lumber floor is aquiring a little more character. Here is a shot after the first cut. You see where he's kneeling? That is all now sliced with the saw and pulled up. On an eco-educational note, you can see the insulation we've used - it's that really fabulous recycled denim stuff that comes in a roll. It is a pleasure to touch, and guess what? It really absorbs water. Sigh.

We realize now that by closing the office door to keep the rest of the house warmer we were slowly freezing the pipes. The insulation was installed on top of the pipes, which insulated them from the warmth of the upstairs and left them exposed to the cold coming up from the office. OK. We've learned that lesson. We are humbled, and chastened. We hope to not learn any more lessons in the next few weeks. Keep your fingers crossed!

Bye Bye Maya

I am sad to report that we have lost one of our most faithful and charming canine friends. Maya, loyal companion to Tamar for many years, passed away last week. Known for her incredibly soft beige fur, loads of charm and the ability to con anyone out of a snack, she is sorely missed. Nicknamed “the Princess,” she spent many afternoons napping on a second dog bed we installed in our house just for her.

This is Maya, relaxing on our stair landing which is right above our kitchen. Just before I took this shot, she was standing and wagging expectantly, as if secretly hoping that I would trip and fall and spill dinner all over the floor, and require her assistance in cleaning up!

I always loved her ears best – they were big and pointy and reminded me of the Sister Bertrille character played by Sally Field in the 70’s TV show The Flying Nun. Just a long way of saying that I miss Maya and her ears. Our sympathy goes out to Tamar, whose thoughtful and tender care bought Maya many extra years.




Sally Field as the Flying Nun. See the similarity?