KAZBEK and the ATM

KAZBEK STOPS A ROBBERY

Kazbek and I loved to wander at night. We would hop in the van around 8:00 p.m., take off to the burger stand (I admit to a one-time addiction to the Inn-n-Out Double-Double burger). After a feast, we would head off to a park, or to the wilderness of Vasquez Rocks, a desert recreation area which was a vast and magical terrain under the full blue moon.

One evening, around 11 p.m., I realized my purse was empty and decided to stop by the sidewalk ATM outside the bank. This particular machine was next to a large grocery that stayed open until midnight. When we drew up to the well-lit parking lot, I noticed a decent number of shoppers were still out and about - a comforting sight.

Like so many women, I cannot just park and get out of the car. I have to rummage in my purse first, maybe put on some lipstick, check to see if I have my keys, and so forth. Kazbek, a very relaxed and pleasant passenger in the car, laid low in the back seat while I was doing all this.

While fumbling through the before-I-exit routine, I saw some young people horsing around. The "game" didn't seem to make much sense but I couldn't help notice it. It went like this: an older teenage girl stood next to her car with her cell phone, making a call. Down another part of the parking lot, away from the grocery and not well lit because the surrounding stores were closed, stood a young man - also on a cell. In the meantime, a teenage boy on a banana bike rode up and down in the same general area. Gestures and eye contact made it apparent that the girl on the phone and the guy in the shadows were talking to each other. Why the kid was bicycling at 11:00 p.m., I did not know. None of it made much sense to me. "Kids!" I thought.

I got out the bank card and started to exit but hesitated; on a whim, I decided to walk Kazbek over to the ATM with me. He walked wonderfully on a leash and you would never believe such a huge animal could be like a feather on leather! I loved going places with him and seldom thought of his built-in utility factor.

We were about 10 car lengths and a driveway distant from the ATM, so it took a minute to get there. The card buzzed in its slot while I waited for the cash.  Just as I took the money out, bicycle boy came riding fast, straight at us. Kazbek immediately charged the boy on the bike - a full frontal assault. The youth hit the brakes hard, skidded and fell sideways but didn't crash. I took my time putting the cash in my wallet, allowing Kazbek to posture and growl while I continued to look into the boy's eyes, letting him see that I understood what he was about and had no fear of him.

As I returned to the car with Kazbek, the youth followed at a distance. He asked me if I could "spare some change" and I said, No. He asked me if the dog would bite him, and I said, Yes. He then asked if he could "borrow" some money!

I told him to ask the dog.

Of course, after the event I could see the whole ploy: the innocent looking girl in the visible area of the parking lot uses her cell to tell the guy in the shadows she has spotted a likely target. That man then alerts the boy on the bicycle; they watch for the right time, give a signal and the boy rides in to grab the purse, or the cash, or whatever, from the intended victim.

Victim profile: woman - with wallet - alone in the  night. But not so alone as they thought.

Dogs of My Life - Wolfgang (Covy Tucker Hill's Wolfgang)

Wolfgang

I purchased Wolfgang, a handsome six month old German Shepherd, from a famous show kennel. I had done my homework - or thought I had - but did not realize that there might be a difference between a "reputable kennel" and a kennel "with a big reputation."

Wolfgang was beautiful, brilliant, devoted, kind, and an excellent watchdog. He seemed generally healthy until he was almost two, when he began to develop seizures. These seizures were controllable, with medication, for about a year and a half. Then even with medication, the seizures became uncontrollable and Wolfgang lost his fight for survival before he was six years old.

At one time, I thought that his seizures were related to his breeding, and while they may have been (the breeders became incommunicado even before I had the opportunity to ask questions as to what was happening), I now believe that his epilepsy resulted when my vet started him on the first oral medication for flea control. The medication was withdrawn from the market within a short time, but this was before the Internet and easy access to information about dangerous drugs. Even today, the oral anti-flea medications on the market are still causing epilepsy in some dogs, as well as other dangerous side effects, up to and including death.

However, from his first months with me and until he was well into his fourth year, Wolf was the most brilliant dog! He learned so many words - some via training, others from the natural conditioning of repeated speech. Sometimes I would sit in a chair and tell him "dog" stories. They went something like this: "Cookie, Wolfy? Ball? Go for a walk? Let's eat. Where's the car?" and so on. He would look into my eyes. then cock his head, first to the right, then to the left, his ears erect, trying to figure out what the story of words might mean in his world. 

Wolfgang, Wolfgang, you were a joy to me. 

Wolf was my first school-trained dog. We attended many formal classes and spent a lot of time on the homework. A typical GSD, Wolfy ate that obedience stuff up, and he was a very mannerly guy. I could take him anywhere; he was always the gentleman.

Until the day, setting up for an event, I was in a public building with Wolfgang at my side, off-leash: a kind, naturally calm and attentive German Shepherd just hanging out with his gal. Involved in and distracted by my tasks, I suddenly realized Wolf had left my side, growling under his breath. I turned to look and saw two young men I'd never seen before, standing in the doorway. One sported an arm sling and seemed to be mumbling; the other was staring at me intently, but changed to a fake smile and asked if he might have some coffee. Now my dog was circling the room, herding them away from me.

I don't remember what my response to the request for coffee was, but the two guys began to come in closer, the man with the simper maneuvering position while the other guy continued to avoid eye contact and mumble. I should say, they "tried" to come into the room because now Wolfgang, a good 100-pound animal, began to bark loudly, pacing in front of them, back and forth, making that eye contact. The mutterer finally looked up, stared straight at me and made some creepy, carnal remarks - I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was unprintable and included sex and knives. I froze for a moment, relying on Wolfgang to keep the peace while I plotted an exit. Just as the tension built to the point where either the dog was going to do something or the weird guys were, several invitees showed up, most of them men. The mumbler turned on the new guys and began to threaten them. The normals immediately perceived that the other two were very strange, but tried at first to be nice about it, telling the odd fellows the event was private and they had to go. From this point, the situation deteriorated completely and a wrestling match ensued. Gents won hands down, and the two weirdos were forced to leave and firmly advised not to return. I later heard that those peculiar boys had both been released that very day from a nearby mental facility! So Wolfgang was right on, and acted appropriately on his instincts. 

Wolf was also my first trial dog. Thus far, I had only managed to mangle training on the bull terrier years earlier. I wanted to be a great dog handler but had NO IDEA what I was doing. There are many things one learns if one wishes to achieve those AKC obedience certificates, but, as is typical in the dog training world, while the realities of what the dog is expected to do are clearly laid out by your instructors (he will heel on lead, sit, down, sit-stay, down-stay, recall, and then you will leave), the human side of handling is largely ignored. There are many books written on the subject of how to train a dog for obedience trials, but the fact that you, especially if you are a newbie, are going to probably be out of your mind with stage fright before you begin your first trial is seldom addressed. To be honest, other than what I just said there, I never read a thing about it! Human stage fright is, in my opinion, the number one reason why, when it comes time for the ring, the dog that performed well in class or at home turns into "the thing that cannot be controlled." 

Fortunately, Wolfgang was totally bonded to me - more than I deserved, I assure you. Although as far as lifestyle went, I was an outdoor girl, and with good vet care, good food, training classes that he loved, and lots of hiking, I think Wolf had a pretty good life and was fulfilled in his basic needs. Be that as it may, he was wonderful in trials. His lowest score was a 195 and the only reason he was in the ring that day was because I didn't want to lose the entry fee and the event was very close by.

As I said, Wolfgang had all the diseases of the German Shepherd breed, except those that exhibit late in life because he didn't have a long life. One of his problems was panosteitis, which plagued his youth for about a year. So, even though I had entered him in a trial, he was a bit feverish and lame for about a month before the trial, and we did not have an opportunity to practice. However, the day of the event, Wolf suddenly recovered completely, so we jumped in the car at the last minute and went. We actually missed our call-up but they let us in as the last to compete, and we drew a 195 and 3rd highest in trial that day. Wolf's other scores on other days (there were no 4-show weekends back then) were a 196 and a 197. As a result, we were invited to the Gaines Regional Obedience Trial in Oregon. I don't believe that event exists anymore but it was a thrill to be invited and it was all due to Wolfgang because, frankly, I barely knew what I was doing much of the time. 

However, as noted, Wolfgang was not a healthy animal. And I was a poor young secretary living on my own, spending hundreds of dollars, almost monthly, from the time he was barely two years old until he was six years old, trying to cure him. In particular, I wanted to cure or control his epilepsy, but within a few years, no drug or combination of drugs available could assuage his condition. By the time he was six, the pills had left him in a kind of eternal stupor, with skin sores and weakness, condemned to a half-life of anxiety and medication as his daily portion. 

It broke my heart to let him go. Our own vet, having worked with us for years trying to save the dog, told me it would be more than his professional reserve could support for him to come put the dog down so I called around for a vet who would come out to the house. This kind gentleman gave Wolfy a tranquilizer first, then gave us our moments to say goodbye. Somehow the tranquilizer seemed to relieve the dog's mind and body and for the first time in years, Wolfgang and I looked into each other's eyes with complete recognition. There was his intelligence; there was his heart. He was quiet for the final injection, no struggle. And then he was gone. 

If you lose your mother, your brother, your spouse, your best friend, the world sympathizes with you. People bring cake. Speeches are made. Flowers are sent. But when you lose your best friend, and it's a dog, few people are truly sympathetic. "Get another dog," they say, "that will cheer you up." Some folks look at you - your sadness, your tears - as if you are soft in the head. Even dog lovers sometimes avoid the friend who's lost their dog because they haven't the strength to share the pain, having been through it themselves. You are lonely because the one who shared every day with you, and added fun, safety, exercise and activity - the special one, the beautiful one - is gone. And you are made lonelier by the fact that there is nowhere to go with your pain - a sadness that disturbs you and separates you from others. 

Several months after Wolfgang's passing, I mentioned to a friend how badly I felt about letting him go. His body could have kept moving for a few more weeks or months, although his mind was not really there. Should I have stayed my hand and kept him longer? Did I do the right things by him, or was I all wrong in everything? My friend told me to try this: Go somewhere quiet and call up memories of my Wolfgang. See him sitting beside me and look into his eyes, look deeply - what do you see? She said that if I did this it would relieve me. 

One evening, alone in my little house, I did as my friend suggested.  Taking a few deep breaths, I closed my lids, and brought Wolfgang to me. I looked into his deep, dark eyes - so wise and benign. There was nothing of the parent there, with the "you should have's", nothing of the sibling with the, "she loved you best" rivalries, there was only the soul of a dog, and it said to me: I see you. I know who you are. I don't see what you are fearing and what is searing your soul with grief and self-doubt. I know about it, but I don't see it. I see inside you to the golden light that is your soul and is your connection to the gods themselves. I have always seen it. That is what I was devoted to. That is what I loved. That is what I came to when you called me today. I saw it then. I see it now. I will always see it. And when you return to us one day, to we who have loved you so, you will see it too. 

Thank you, Wolfgang, for loving me. For loving me even when I could not love myself. You are ever in my heart.