by Al Van Dyk | Jul 29, 2020 | Through Ivy's Eyes
“I know it’s still lying even if you’re trying to protect someone, Ivy. Sure it’s a rationalization, maybe even a leap, but…never-mind. Now that we asked the boy for help, we have to tell him.”
It certainly was a unique predicament, to be poolside and experiencing some mobility difficulties that were interfering with me getting back in the house. What would be useful is something that has a seat and that doubles as a floatation device. It’s a scary feeling when your vision is clouded and you can’t think logically. This time, all of the outcomes I could envision had me on the bottom of the pool. I certainly wasn’t going to let that happen, at least not with witnesses.
I have a secret; in fact, I have many. One that I managed to keep guarded is that I have not only one, but two walkers, one of which has a seat, that with some creativity, could double as a floatation device. Seldom do I take them out side, rarely during daylight hours, and never in Michigan. I confess I have had to sneak my cane outside once or twice, but only to get the Wonder Pup’s chain unwrapped from a young bush in the front yard.
For the last few years, maybe more, I have taken artistic liberty with the facts, telling my son that my cane was the source of my back-up power, hence the two AAA batteries. Fortunately, in the times that we live, the truth is subjective. I have the freedom to call my cane anything I want. If I choose to tell people that it belonged to Moses, because I found it in the yard sale of Charlton Heston’s barber, it must be. Who could argue?
Certainly, it would be foolish to argue with the brain-trust that rendered entire police agencies non-essential and declared that dead Europeans are the cause of everything that is wrong with our country. From their push for the metric system to their hand in the development of the Delorean,
their past need not define our future.
Where is the moral ambiguity in the little white lies that we tell our kids; Santa Clause, the Easter bunny, the estimates created by the CDC,
they are all real, are they not? A riot is actually just an alternate form of expression…
[loudspeaker alert] ”Mr. Van Dyk, you will need to step away from the soapbox.”
Sorry, I got a little too close to the line.
Our kids deserve to know the truth. They can handle it. Eventually, they will root out the benign from the idiotic, the Holiday Hoaxes from the sacred traditions, and a riot from just another game of Monopoly gone bad. Better they hear the truth from someone who knows and cares about them than from a news outlet that has pledged to disseminate
all of the news that is fit to print.
“I know pup, I’m stalling but I need to make a point. Besides, didn’t we decide that you were going to tell him? He’s 18 now. I think he needs to hear it from you.”
I ran through all of the scenarios that my creative imaginative mind could construct. Unfortunately, none of them allowed for my version of events to remain intact. I re-examined the slope of the concrete around the pool, I measured the height of the stairs leading down to the sliding door. I counted the number of steps from the back of the house to the front. My plan should have worked.
“Ok, I’ll tell him.
How embarrassing!
Son, I need to tell you something that I probably should have told you a long time ago. That thing I hid behind the closet door, that we asked you to get, It’s called a rollerator — it’s a fancy name for a walker. I know that’s not what I told you it was. It’s not a dog sled and Ivy isn’t a musher. And for future reference, rollerators don’t float.
That went better than I thought it would.
Happy birthday, son! Thanks for assisting in the rescue operation. Now that you are 18, you might want to think about a career as an EMT. You’re a natural!
Thanks for reading, liking and sharing,
Al and his faithful, but decisive sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
Do me a favor, ask if you will receive training on how to get a rollerator out of the bottom of the pool. It might come in handy.
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by Al Van Dyk | Mar 28, 2020 | Through Ivy's Eyes
For the record, I’m not sure why every dog thinks they have all the right stuff to be a therapy dog. It takes more than looking the part or making a fashion statement. We are not accessories. For one, you’ll never catch me wearing a turtle neck sweater or hiding in someone’s handbag. Where is the dignity in that? How can a therapy dog spring into action if he or she has their legs tangled up in a rhinestone and sequin-covered leash?
A therapy dog needs the poise of a flight attendant, the patience of a Disney theme park character, and the tenacity of a Conservative on the View. I’ve read about a training program that certifies dogs. It was a good program, that is until the lawyers got involved, and miniature horses and lizards were allowed to join. Now it’s a free-for-all.
Don’t get me wrong, I like bearded dragons, some of my best friends are reptiles, but I wouldn’t put the safety of a room full of pre-schoolers in the care of a chameleon. When things get dicey, no one will be able to find it. Don’t get me started on the boa’s; they’re snakes. On some days, they are all hugs, and the next thing you know, they are lying on the floor trying to size you up. Never trust a snake.
Back to the question, what makes for a great therapy dog? It helps if you can identify the things that can harm your person and be able to act decisively to neutralize the threat. For example, I can hear a box of ice cream opening from three rooms away. If I don’t intervene, who will? I certainly can’t trust him to exercise moderation. If I leave it up to him, he will polish off that box of ice cream before sun-rise.
The same can goes for those juicy steaks. He doesn’t know when to say when. He even tried to buy a half of a cow and put it in the freezer. So what happens to the other half? I had to play hardball on that one. There isn’t room on the couch for the two of us.
It’s not just about depriving him of those things where he has a weakness or lacks self-control. First and foremost, my job is to make sure that he is taking care of himself. That means, exercise, taking his meds when he is supposed to and avoiding unnecessary stress. And when he can’t avoid it, my job is to absorb and deflect it. The best thing I can do for him is to make him scratch me behind my ears for at least ten minutes, three times a day. It may seem like a sacrifice, but it’s worth it.
What I gave you is just the shortlist; there is so much more. Soon enough, you’ll figure out what your person needs to help them cope with whatever ever life throws there way. Lucky you if it includes anything from the frozen dairy section; that’s where a lot of people lose their way.
Good luck, and stay clear of the sloths. You will spend all day just trying to get them to return a text message.
Thanks for reading,
Ivy the Wonder Pup — a friend to many, a sidekick to one.
Hey Daddio, Stay away from the freezer door. Don’t make me bring a spoon.
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by Al Van Dyk | Nov 17, 2019 | Through Ivy's Eyes
Tails from the dark side.
I know they care, I see their true colors, but it would be great that when they jump to a conclusion, the conclusion wasn’t the wrong one. I wonder why those who care for me are always worrying, Generally speaking, I am careful. Sometimes foot stools pop out of nowhere, and other times, bookcases fall. I can’t make this stuff up. For the record, I have been doing a much better job of planning my emergencies. I keep telling them that striving for independence comes with a price. I guess I never asked them if it was a price that they were willing to pay.
hey, sad eyes
It’s not going to end this way, not on my watch. What’s he doing on the floor now? He was doing so well. I will check his temperature by sticking my nose in his ear. I wonder how long he’s been here? Good, he’s still warm. I’m not going anywhere until he either gets up off the floor or until…What to do? I can’t wait to go for help until he’s room temperature, that will be too late.
don’t be discouraged
When are these cramps in my feet going to release? I have to keep my day moving. I don’t have time for this. My morning was going great; now I’ll be late. It seems like it only happens when I am in a hurry, and I want to get somewhere fast. What’s up with Ivy, and why does that silly dog have her nose in my ear, anyway? I know she likes to play, but this is getting weird even for the Wonder Pup. What is this Pup, some kind of vigil? I’m nowhere near room temperature.
take courage
How we choose to live, and how we choose to face our fears, is rooted in our willingness to embrace the unplanned and engage the unforeseen. What one perceives as a simple hiccup is another’s last dying breath; just as one person’s idea of a mole-hill to side-step is another’s mountain to conquer. Not every bout of indigestion merits a trip to the ER; similarly, not every stutter-step will end in a face plant on the tarmac. Most of the time, the solution is clear; as hard as it may be, we have to learn to adapt to our new reality.
all you can bear
It’s fear that entices us to only see and expect the worst in our circumstances and others; fear that is capable of convincing us that, given our condition, we are somehow incomplete, unloveable, and unwanted. It is this fear of isolation and brokenness that will highjack our thoughts and take our minds down rabbit trails so dark and bleak that even the effervescent Energizer Bunny will pack an extra set of Duracells to light his path.
just call me up
Every dog should be so fortunate to have a person to care for them as nice as mine. Sure, he only lets me lick the ice-cream bowl when its almost gone. He isn’t selfish, he wants me to watch my weight. I’m not sure why he has had so many rough nights again lately. I wonder if the trolls are back. He hates trolls. I thought we put them behind us. If he needs me, I hope he calls for me. I am a trained therapy dog. The couch isn’t as comfy as it looks.
i’ll be there
The Wonder Pup can sense when I am uneasy or when I am home alone. Everyone should be so fortunate to have a faithful sidekick, one that stands close by, really close. I know that she is checking on me if I am roaming around in the early morning hours. When the house is dark and it’s her and I that are up— neither one by choice — it is she that keeps me company. I’m beginning to wonder if she knows something that I don’t. She is starting to freak me out.
the darkness inside
Why is it we let our true color show when we have nothing left to hide, no one left to keep our stories in check and we have no one willing to walk beside us? The darkness feels like the end, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be the beginning of something grand, something amazing, and something life-changing. When we have nothing to lose, we have everything to gain.
shining lights
When we finally do let our true colors shine, when we are vulnerable and lost, the colors that shine through us can be indescribable, as magnificent as a sunset on a late summer night; Colors so vibrant that even a master painter can’t find words to describe them or call them by name. Now we are but spectators, standing in awe of what it is that we are experiencing.
to my true love
I see your true colors shining through, I see your true colors, and that’s why I love you.
So don’t be afraid to let them show. Your true colors, true colors are beautiful…to me.
Thanks, Lisa, for encouraging me to be me.
Thanks for reading, liking and sharing,
Ivy ran out to the store to get painting supplies. It turns out that she wants to be a famous painter.
Al and his faithful, but color-blind sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
I had to tell her to buy a paint set with numbers. I couldn’t find the words to describe a marmalade sky.
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by Al Van Dyk | Aug 9, 2019 | Through Ivy's Eyes
It’s a tall order to be his go-to-guy, to answer all his silly questions and to keep him from hurting himself. I don’t think that my job is in jeopardy or my favorite spot on the couch is going up for auction. I hope he knows that I do more than that day-dreaming beagle who sleeps all day on top of a little house in his back yard. Anyone can pretend to fly a dog house and fight off an imaginary villain. How hard can it be when your arch-enemy is named after a grocery store pizza?
I like my nickname, the Wonder Pup, it makes me feel fearless and that nothing can stop me — that he and I, together, can make a difference. Even thought my feelings changed when I found out that…our villains are real, I have a great life. I found my purpose. My job is the care for him. It’s not all work. For fun, I like to hide his keys and wallet; it’s one way that I keep him close. I miss the of side of him that pokes fun of other people’s sacred cows. Sure, he seems more mellow, more reflective, and is even nicer than he used to be, but someone has to antagonize the drunken Sparty’s and the inflatable woodchuck that live down the street. I hope he isn’t turning into a cat person.
I like it when he scratches behind my ear’s and plays with me on the floor in the morning. Every now and then, I nudge him after he falls asleep just so he knows I’m still looking out for him. He gives me a lot to worry about, particularly when he starts his sentence with, “Don’t freak out…This may be the start of a minor medical emergency”. That’s my cue to stay calm, even thought things are about to get colorful.
He isn’t as worried about getting stranded anymore or that he might need help getting home from a walk; I just reassure him that if anything does happen, I will use my leash to tie up to a mailbox or a light pole where he will be safe. I promised him that I will always come back with help — or an ice cream truck. Goldens are like that.
I think that I’m a pretty good sidekick. After all, I don’t remember the last time I had to pull him out of the bar or an all-you-can-eat buffet. I know what he expects of me — my job is to make him look good. I have to be on my toes, and to stay sharp; I need to be prepared for any question he throws my way. You would think that I was studying to get on Jeopardy. The questions about politics are easy, but I would like to know where a talk radio guy earned so much about movies and music. I have to admit, he stumped me with the yellow-haired kid and the Raven. Maybe someone out there can tell me who is Paul anyway, and how did he die? Oh, and what is a Walrus?
I am going to try to get him to take me on a walk later tonight. The guy who drives the ice cream truck gave me his sound track that plays when he makes his rounds. I have it cued up on my iPhone. I’ll wait until I see him get off the couch and check the freezer for ice. He falls for it every time. Who can resist a Klondike bar delivered to you at the end of your driveway? Here comes the truck.
Thanks for reading, and helping me prep for the Daily Double.
—<<O>>—-
I wonder if this will get him off his game.
“Hey Daddio, I bet you can’t guess what kind of tree we have behind our pool in the back yard.”
“What is a Black Walrus tree?… I’ll take Arctic Flippered Mammals for $400, Ivy.”
A friend to many, but a sidekick to one, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
Wow, he’s good!
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by Al Van Dyk | Jul 4, 2018 | Through Ivy's Eyes
I bet you didn’t think that you would find me here, sitting on the sidewalk without my chain. It’s okay. It was time for me to grow up. I can’t expect him to chase me down the road forever. It was fun while it lasted. And people say that a dog’s ears flop when they run.
I wonder when he is going to start writing again. Lately, I have written more than he has, and when it comes to writing, I’m a dog. I still hear him up and about but I’m not sure what he’s doing in his office at all hours of the morning. Maybe he’s trading cryptocurrency. That would explain the bowling words he is using. Perhaps he is looking for a new sidekick. I admit I haven’t been protecting him as I should.
He took it pretty hard when I told him I wanted to liberation from his oppressive rules. I’m a Golden, and I’m housebroken. I shouldn’t need a collar or a leash for that matter. He had a fit when it looked like I took a knee at the last event we attended. How can he expect me to stand at attention when some little kid is trying to put his finger in my ear. I like my scratches behind the ear; Thank you, very much. I am still trying to talk my way around holding up a clenched paw in the air.
He doesn’t realize how much I want my own life and I don’t always want to be just a sidekick. I want to get top billing. I bet dog lovers would come in droves to see me. I can’t speak for the cat ladies, but then who can? I have a compelling story. At least five of my siblings were all kidnapped. I was one of 8 siblings growing up on a farm. We minded our own business when a mom and a dad drove up in a mini-van. A pile of kids jumped out and started playing with us. The next thing I knew, the littlest of them put one of my siblings in a box, and they drove off with him in the back of a van. There was only three of us left when it happened to me. I was kidnapped, too. I was crated like a dog. We were in the car for what seemed like days, maybe even weeks, before we ended up where we live now. They let me out to play in the grass, but it isn’t like the farm. There aren’t any big animals around; just a cat, a house cat of all things.
It wasn’t long before he fitted me with a vest and told me that I would be his sidekick. I still am not sure what them means. I feel more like a scapegoat. I get blamed for everything. Even some puddles that I don’t think are mine. I wouldn’t mind the title of sidekick if I were treated like Spock on Star Trek. Now there is a gig that I would like. I would get to drive the spaceship and chase Tribbles around. Tribbles look like a big hamster and probably taste a lot like chicken.
I think my job is to keep him safe and make sure he doesn’t do any stupid. I haven’t been able to stop him from the fattening stuff. I try to steal his ice cream every chance I get. It is for his own good; at least its good for me. I should get back to the grind. He is having me check his grammar now. He should know that there is an app for that, one the understands English, no less. I tired of being chained to a desk. I am so ready to be liberated. I don’t know who reads this stuff anyway.
Don’t worry I won’t run off and leave him stranded. I’m not a beagle. I will stay by his side as long as he wants me around. I know his soft spot. If I give him those sad eyes, I can get a bowl of ice cream out of him every time. Right now, my focus needs to get him writing again. A little more exercise will do him some good as well.
Maybe he needs me to help motivate him. I know, I will jump on his bed and put my paw in his ear. I bet that will wake him up.
Maybe he needs me to help motivate him. I know, I will jump on his bed and put my paw in his ear. I bet that will wake him up.
Thanks for reading,
Ivy, a friend to many, sidekick to one.
I’ll be fine; I can outrun him.
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by Al Van Dyk | Sep 4, 2017 | Through Ivy's Eyes
I never thought he would leave and his computer is unlocked. I never thought this day would come. I know he let me write my own post once before, but he did most of the writing. This one will be different. Finally, I get my chance to speak my mind. We are not all the same, we don’t all look alike, and no we don’t all smell like a wet dog all the time, only when we are wet.
Goldens Are Like That
To clear up some things, I have my own voice. “He” doesn’t speak for me. I am not lethargic, spoiled, love-struck or any other adjective that he can come up with at my expense. I am well read; I used to read the Times until I was properly housebroken. I would read more books if I could turn the pages without tearing or chewing them to pieces first. I am not the typical millennial; I would never vote for anyone named Bernie. Goldens are like that.
He treats me pretty good. He needs more exercise but doesn’t seem to get the hint. The collar around the neck isn’t a necktie; it has a loop for a reason. What do I have to do, attach my own leash for him to get the message? Occasionally, I see him walk funny out of the corner of my eye. I pretend to be asleep so that he doesn’t notice that I’m watching him. I hope he doesn’t think I will leave him stranded if it happens while we are walking. I will make sure he gets home safely. I won’t think any less of him. Goldens are like that.
I hear him when he gets up in the morning. He will come into my room, or what he refers to as “his office,” will grab his computer and sit on the couch for a while typing away. I thought that we finished the project we were working on; editing shouldn’t take him this long. I don’t know why he’s worried. I seldom chew on the furniture or leave a stain on the carpet. I’m not a toddler anymore. It’s not like I can read what he writes. No one words like “ubiquitous” and “contemporaneously” anymore. I wish he would let me out of my crate so I could keep him company. I don’t like it when he is alone. Goldens are like that.
I like it when he leaves the door to the cabinet where he keeps the trash open a crack so I can help my self to the good stuff. Sure, I get two meals a day, but the house cat gets six; three just at breakfast depending on who gets duped by his play. Thankfully, he lets me lick his ice cream bowl when he’s finished. Sure, I wish he would leave a little more for me, but I will wait my turn. Goldens are like that.
I know he means well. I know that he misses me when he’s gone. I like it when he works from home the most. He lets me sleep in “his” leather chair. At least he doesn’t travel very much. I worry a lot when he’s gone. I know he can “do it,” traveling that is, I’m happy to see him back home. He always greets me first when he gets home. Maybe, it’s because I’m the first one to run to the door to greet him or maybe it’s because I need him to know that I am glad he can still bring home some bacon. Goldens are like that.
Man’s Best Friend
He might be upset that I did this without his consent. If you see him tell him to lighten up and watch a little Disney once in a while. Walt knew that all animals could talk that they were usually the smartest in the house!
Take that daddio!
Thanks for reading and liking; sharing it with your friends is even better
Ivy, a friend to many, the Sidekick to one
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