Anti-Semitism and the Dog Beach

 

It was a gorgeous day for a beach romp and sunbathing at 42 degrees with a mild breeze, Celebrating my fiftieth year on this beach, Gem Gem and I were attacked by two Yorkie Terriers. Gem Gem warded them off, after I had called out to their owner from 100 feet away to leash them. "You [people] just come here and think you're king of the beach!" she sneered. The news that I'd been coming to this beach for fifty years failed to cool her scorn. Walking away, she shouted over her shoulder, "you're a jerk off!"

"You don't need to get so nasty," I replied. "That's not nasty," she bellowed, "this is New Jersey!" Always the gentleman, I told her to have a nice day. I love this state.

There's more. There's always more.

This pleasant encounter was more complicated than you'd think. Her reference to me as "you" (as in "you people") was an anti-semitic swipe at the wealthy Syrian Jews, who have bought all the beach front properties for miles around here, including privatizing and closing off the very beach we were standing on in Loch Arbor. In essence, her deceptively simple outburst was the coded resentment of class and race. The nice white American lady mistook me for a carpet bagging Syrian (Sephardic) Jew from Brooklyn, whereas I am merely an Ashkenazi Jew from Eastern Europe. Wow, if she had known that, she might have come up with a better slur--uh, I don't know, bagel vendor, sheenie, kike, all of which I've been called in my own hometown. Thank יהוה that I now have Gem Gem to protect me.

Warning: Hazardous Canine

Gem Gem has always been "the baby" or "Mrs. Baby." She never makes a peep. However, in public, she growls, barks, and bucks when any other dog, big or small, approaches. Fifty or sixty generations of the shepherd's breeding hardwires her to protect me (the sheep) from any and all predators; so she throws herself in front of me, pushes me back with her butt, and doesn't let up till they're gone. Today, two house-rats (mini-terriers with little bows) screeched their lungs out at Gem Gem, who knew exactly what to do. Their owner declared, "that dog is hazardous." Of course, he simultaneously revealed his total ignorance of dogs. The two self-pitying Marlon Brando wannabes slunk away commiserating, "I coulda been a contender." Gem Gem, you go girl.

Pet Resort Report Card

Gem Gem lodged over the weekend at the "Pet Resort" when we were away. I, the owner, was more anxious than she was. According to the "report card," she did marvelously. By the way, I did not elect to treat her to the "Bed-Time Tuck-In" or the "Bed-Time Tuck-In with the Reading of a Story."

Gem Gem and The Sock Puppet Theater

It’s gratifying to enrich our daily dog walks with entertainment. A normal route makes Gem Gem’s movements predictable and, though David always appreciates the sun, stars, and breeze, he envisioned something more. There’s the leash, the “gentle leader” head collar, the poop, and the pooper scooper bag.

Well, it’s time time to stop taking the bag for granted. It’s not just any bag. It’s a Premium Pick Up Bag; it’s hygienic and 2-ply, with a roomy pocket that helps protect hands.

Still, it’s time that our Premium bag be fleshed out more fully: introducing  Morty the sock puppet. He’s one of ours, no less than Howdy Doody was family to Buffalo Bob Smith.

Morty was born in Washington, D.C. on 9 March 2014 at 12 noon, the symptom of the eccentric need of David to perform indirectly. We were visiting. Thus, he debuted in the nation’s capital over lunch for two five year old, Nati and Eva. These two have memorized “Frozen” word-for-word and are going to college next year. So Morty’s no stranger to sophisticated audiences.

Morty’s a cool blue. He doesn’t see well and certainly doesn’t smell. He’s pretty much all mouth, and damn voracious at that. But Morty is down for anything. He talks in a throaty, high-pitched voice (thanks to David’s accomplished ventriloquism). He’s witty and endearing, albeit a tad annoying.
 
Morty has one more amazing attribute. When Gem Gem is done, Morty’s gotta work. All of a sudden, ventriloquism aside, he gets a dirty mouth; we have to tie him up and get rid of him. Well, he comes in a box of 100, so it’s as if he never really leaves us, just shows up again dressed to go out.

Gem Gem is a Snow Bunny.

Gem Gem is a playful snow bunny. The powdery white blanket turns our world at once joyful and mysterious. And the Belgian Shepherd's genes kick in with a vengeance. Dolphins have nothing on her leaping and diving head first, swimming and crawling like an infantry grunt through the stuff. Her face comes up masked in white, like a ghost, her eyes as two black holes. Snort, shake, and dive again. Then she rolls and skewers through a snow mound. Early in the morning or late at night, when it's down to 9 degrees, it's enough to make you love being alive again.

Is Gem Gem Neurotic?

Gem Gem is mischievous when she's alone in the house. She digs in the trash can for paper plates, towels, and take-out containers with vestiges of food; spreads them out neatly on the den carpet; licks them clean; and leaves not a crumb behind. When we return, she looks at us sheepishly, slinks away, and hides her head under furniture. The vet says she has separation anxiety--as a rescued dog--and needs comfort when we leave, like a cage and Kong toy. He suggested medication. Following Freud, we can hypothesize that her repeated trash ritual in our absence is the manifestation of a canine neurosis. Is Gem Gem neurotic? Please contribute your insight.

 

Gem Gem is a prospector of smells. Snow gives her the opportunity to test her olfactory prowess. I mean, what's challenging about summer turf for a shepherd? As she prances, hunts, and tracks, sniffing with the acuity of a Geiger counter, she plugs her snout into the snow every few strides, pauses a moment, and recoils, leaving a Dixie-cup sized crater. Her nose is a frosted cream cake. It's suspenseful, because the real holy grail is elusive. Once in a while, the initial core sample leads to an excavation site. She digs. It's a peculiar method; she's more like a gopher than a TV dog. Squatting, kind of curled over, she works her front paws furiously until white snow gives way to green grass and black earth. What she finds is anyone's guess; at least it remains mysterious to the useless human nose. As swiftly as she began, she's out of the hole, like a popped champagne cork. Apparently satisfied, she's onto the next one.