When in pain – physical or mental – the two things I think most soothing are music (specifics vary by person and will be addressed in a later post) and the unconditional love of a pet. When I was fighting the cancer war, ensconsed at Glendale Adventist Hospital, they had a visiting pet program. I remember one morning, when in one of my darker moods, two strangers walked into my room with two small dogs. I was not in the mood to talk with friends, let alone strangers, but they said that was okay and asked if I wanted to pet the dogs. The dogs were already on my bed and snuggling up — irresistable. The couple carried on their own conversation between themselves and left me to the dogs. I don’t know how long they stayed, it may have been only fifteen minutes, but the effect was long lasting and far outweighed the ocassional unrequested drop-ins from various clerics.
I had a dog when I was very young, a poodle name Bosco. He was a nervous fellow, not meant for city life — or maybe he didn’t like wearing a bonnet and riding in a doll’s carriage — and he soon went to live with someone else in the suburbs. After that we had a succession of cats. So it may have been that hospital visit that primed me for my meeting Django, or maybe it was just fate. It was only a couple of months after the chemo and radiation treatments, and, in anticipation of further medical treatment, I had moved to New York City to be near to my family. One afternoon the apartment buzzer rang and the building superintendent said he had a package for me. I went downstairs and saw a puppy playing in the lobby. It was a cute little black and white ball of fluff, and when I sat down on the floor he jumped right into my lap. (I later learned that this fluffball was a pure-bred Shih-Tzu.) After a few minutes, I asked the super where was my package, and he pointed to the dog. Turns out, some idiot in a building down the block was going to take this dog to the pound, and that building’s superintendent mentioned it to our super who said he’d find a home for the dog. I was told his name was Sluggo, which I promptly changed to Django.
When I moved back to California, my parents agreed to dog sit while John and I got settled in the new house. That was seven years ago, and Django is still living with my parents — the three of them are inseparable. You may have seen Django with Dad on the pages of Jazz Times, or on his web site (Django is in picture #11 of the First Meeting collection here) , or in this shot I copied from a Japanese magazine. Django never strays too far from Mom, either, but she’s not partial to being photographed. The picture at the top is one I took just two weeks ago.