Follow Your Bliss

Santa Cruz is weird. Some of it is bad-weird (panhandled every 10 feet on the main street, a cannibalistic serial killer running amok), but much of it is good-weird. Sort of like a Berkeley-by-the-Sea, we citizens here have an enormous tolerance for anything out of the norm (except the aforementioned cannibal).

That “do your own thing” attitude may be what allowed me to chuck the criminal-defense investigator career and create Little Pup Lodge. And indeed, it is more pleasant spending my days with Shi-Tzus and Chihuahuas rather than with alleged murderers, rapists and pedophiles.

However, my mid-life career change pales in comparison to others in this town. I recently ran into a true role model of reinvention as I strolled through the Saturday morning Farmer’s Market last weekend. Right past the rainbow chard and to the left of the Clementine tangerines my hero was holding forth to a small crowd of stunned onlookers.

   Singing the blues.

No time like the right time.

Frank Lima was a middle-aged stockbroker, calculating P/E ratios and betting on pork-belly futures until he decided to follow his bliss. Lima dumped his three-piece suits, grabbed an accordion and became The Great Morgani; street performer and undisputed king of bizarre costumes. The Great Morgani has bedecked himself as, well, the outfits are open to interpretation; each a bejeweled Rorschach for the eye of the beholder.

 What balloon payment?

Can't even think of a caption for this one.

While Frank’s new dress-for-success look is a far cry from my business uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, I like to believe that the same heart beats beneath both: contented.

 Play an accordion, to to jail.

Old and In The Way

The ancient throwaways; they’re the ones that break my heart. Our local animal shelter manages to find homes for the stray dogs, the surrendered dogs, even the severely abused dogs. But the old ones? And particularly the old, old ones? A snowball in hell has a higher survival rate than the shelter’s canine senior citizens. Which explains why a geriatric, blind, heart-diseased, dentally-challenged Chihuahua has taken up residence at Little Pup Lodge.

Since Cody had been adopted, I had room for another foster. The shelter suggested I take Helena, a five-year-old rat terrier, because she had begun to injure herself from kennel stress.

 Helena

As we were leaving, my neighbor and friend Ericka noticed the skinny little dog in a cage kept separate from the rest. I truly wish she hadn’t. I took one look at those sad eyes in that old face and knew I was in trouble.

  Kiko, aka Tex.

Sarah the shelter worker said Kiko had been found wandering the streets. They first thought he had been hit by a car as some of his motor skills showed evidence of head trauma. The medical intake exam discovered a heart murmur that rated a five on a one-to-six scale. The teeth were rotten and he was blind as a bat. They pegged Kiko's age as running a close second to Methuselah's.

  Kiko, better known as Tex.

A man called and said he recognized Kiko when he searched the lost-and-found website, but never came to pick him up. I’m not sure what reason would compel someone to turn his back on an aged and disabled companion, but it must have been a good one.

So what happens? I asked Sarah. He’ll probably be “euthed,” she said. I guess the word “euthanasia” is used so often around there, they just shorthand it. I tried very, very hard to hold my tongue, but it had to have the last word: “Call me before you do that, okay?”

Life is grand at Miss Kelly's Home for Geriatric Chihuahuas!

I thought of Kiko daily and, after a week of hearing nothing from the shelter, decided they forgot about me and went ahead with the “euth.” (euthe?)  I got an email the next day: Come on down if you still want him.

The Lodge has a few ironclad rules: #1–No unspayed or unneutered dogs. #2–Only one foster at a time. #3–Absolutely no adopting a foster. On top of all the other problems, Kiko still had his huevos. As militant as I am about spay and neuter,  a dog that old and in that poor of health probably would not survive the surgery.

As far as Rule #2, I already had two fosters, Helena and Sugar. But, I would not adopt him. I pretended someone else would be interested in doing that. (I also believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.) Nope, Tex (as I have renamed Kiko) will most likely live out his days here, allowing me to accumulate a sizable credit card debt in veterinary bills.

Now I have Rule #4: Absolutely no more shelter visits. This week.