IKO'S SPIRIT

 

Devastating. A visceral shock 

We brought Iko in for routine dental work 

but then 

a massive tumor in his throat 

“Aggressive melanoma” 

We reluctantly agreed 

to have Iko put down 

Three weeks have gone by 

Iko’s ashes are on the mantel 

His spirit has spread throughout the house 

I look for him each time I enter a room

expect to see him on his pillow in the hallway 

or waiting at the door when we return 

My biological clock tells me 

when it’s time for our walk 

I note each shrub on Ludlow Ave 

where Iko would want to pause and sniff 

Last night as she was getting out of bed 

Katja saw Iko on the floor near her feet 

She stepped out of the way 

to avoid hurting him 

When I turned twelve 

I gave up my belief in ghosts 

Now I find myself re-thinking the matter

WRESTLING WITH IKO

 

Our schnauzer is a world-class sleeper 

until I get up and get dressed 

whereupon he comes to the edge of the bed, 

leaps up on his hind legs, 

and paws ferociously at the air. 

Rrrhhaahg Aarghhh Arrrhh 

“Okay Iko, you’re asking for it.” 

I push his shoulders down, press on his snout. 

Grahmmg Rrahgg 

Iko jerks his head free and snaps at my wrist 

but I grab him by a back leg 

and spank his hind-quarters. 

“Rub-a-dub-a-dub.” 

Ghrrarr Rrahrr 

Iko snaps, I give him a poke. 

Over he goes onto his back. 

Whrahhrrr Arghhaah 

Bouncing this way and that, 

kicking his legs in the air, 

Ggrrhhm grraahh 

I punch him gently in the ribs. 

“Take that, Mister.” 

Iko twists all 22 pounds back and forth 

and tries to bite my forearm. 

Brrggg Rrufff Rff Rff 

He rolls back onto his feet 

and shakes his head. 

Grrahh Rrgghhh 

Grips my right hand in his mouth. 

“Ouch. Not so rough, Buster.” 

I shove my knuckles against his teeth. 

Iko twists and turns, backs up and growls. 

Rrahgga rhurgg 

And so it goes, on and on, 

until we finally get tired. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

 Iko leaps down onto the carpet 

 and out we head for our morning walk. 

 Rmmff Grahhrrr

Life With Iko

Two Dogs

Lil Paws is the naughty one

A little punk pipsqueak 

Who yaps at the big guys on Ludlow Ave. 

Even the Great Swiss Mountain Dog

Thirteen pounds but 

The loudest barker in our neighborhood 

Back home Lil Paws chews up undies

Ball point pens

Pastries on the breakfast table  

Pooped on the rug two times

Ate two holes in the quilt

Clearly a descendant of wolves  

But remarkably cute nonetheless 

Loves being petted

Snuggles up at night in the bed

Likes to lie on my chest  

Iko is older, better mannered

Never does anything wrong 

But he doesn’t have quite as much fun  

Twice the size of his Yorkie brother

Though still he gets bullied around 

A miniature Schnauzer

Rarely groomed, lots of mats 

Iko follows me from room to room 

Like my buddy  

Naps at my feet

Puts his paws on the arm of my chair

When he wants attention  

A pretty good rough-houser

Lies on his back

Grumbles contentedly 

And kicks four legs in the air 

Both dogs like going for walks

Lil Paws charges out in front

Straining on the leash

Pulling me along

But Iko lags behind

Sniffing every pole, every hydrant

Or clump of gladiolas

The dogs growl at pedestrians in masks

But otherwise are one with the world 

Mike

When we moved to the river in ’46,

we had only one neighbor, Lew Reed

who lived a half mile west on River Road

with his Irish setter, Mike.  

Mike, a handsome specimen, red hair, strong legs,

keen eyes, a noble disposition.   

Lew and Mike would walk down the shore to visit

and we kids would cavort with the dog.

Running and jumping, tossing sticks and balls, 

wading in the river, resting in the sun. 

Soon, whenever Lew let him out, 

Mike would run away and come to our house.

We too him home at the end of the day.   

Finally Lew Reed relented to  fate

and he gifted Mike to our family.

We were thrilled. 

So fantastic

so smart

mature

a loyal companion

calm, affectionate, well-behaved.

Mike camped with us at Mason Park 

Long hikes on the river shore. 

Tossing the football, foot races in the yard.  

In the summer our family took our boat to Indian Island for picnics. 

Four kids, no room in the rowboat for a dog

so Mike swam along behind the boat — 

. . . . . . . . . . . . a half mile or more.

Mike loved chasing the chipmunks on the lawn.

Squirrels too, occasionally a rabbit. 

Each year he would corner a porcupine, 

winding up with a nose full of quills.

Yikes!  Ouch!  Ooooh! 

Off to Dr. Seidl for painful extractions.

A year later he’d forgotten and

he did it all over again. 

One spring afternoon Mike fell through the river ice.

My mother forbade us to leave the house

and she crawled out on the ice on her stomach

to rescue our beloved dog.

My grandfather bought us a second Irish setter in Florida.

We named her Micki and Mike was her mentor. 

Mike trained Micki to never do her business on our lawn.

Instead, they went to the birch grove next door. 

Mike and Micki got into a vicious fight.

My mother intervened, had her forearm ripped open.

At the hospital she forgave the dogs 

and blamed herself instead.  

Mike lived to a ripe old age.

Then one summer day he collapsed outside our door

dead from a stroke.  

I dug his grave in our back pasture.

A deep grave for a large dog.

My sister added a wooden cross that she’d made.    

I remember exactly how that gravedigging felt.

It still brings tears to my eyes. 

Mike

Dogs, as we know, are wonders of the world

So steadfast and loving and strong

We’re all better beings because of our pets

They enrich us our entire life long

Our family dog Mike was an Irish Setter

He’d belonged to our neighbor Lew Reed

But Mike only wanted to be with us kids

As sad as he felt, Lew agreed

Mike was a part of our family from the start

He’d lead us through the forest on hikes

He loved to chase the sticks that we threw

And he ran as we raced on our bikes

Our family would boat up the river

With six there was no room for Mike

He’d paddle behind the boat as we rowed

For a mile or more if we’d like

Each summer Mike fought with a porcupine

He’d be full of quills in the yard

The vet did his best to be gentle

Pulling quills from one’s nose is quite hard

One year in the middle of April

Mike ventured out onto the river

He fell through the ice in the water

We watched him and felt our hearts quiver

My mother told us to stay in the house

She crawled on the ice to our pet

She dragged Mike out by the scruff of his neck 

Such courage I’ll never forget

My grandfather figured Mike needed a pal

In Florida he bought a new setter

Micki was sent to Menominee by train

We found that two dogs were still better

Mike of course was the Alpha dog

He taught Mick the rules of life

First and foremost, no poops on the lawn

Besides that, there wasn’t much strife

But one day the dogs did get into a spat

My mother jumped in to intervene

We never knew who tore the gash in her arm

But it wound up a most bloody scene

Mike lived till I’d gone off to college

He died of a stroke in our yard

Our parents grieved and so did we kids

I’d never known anything so hard

I dug Mike’s grave in the field out back

I cried the entire time

Our family held a funeral of sorts

We’d lost a companion sublime

Mike was the heart of my growing up

He taught many lessons in living

How to be playful and loyal and kind

Most of all, the true value of giving