A Feline Passing

Yesterday, The Woman informed me that Abby, the beat-up 15 year old Tom Cat from next door, passed away. As much as I disdain emotional moments, I admit to my moment of silence honoring this neighborhood institution. Abby would hide behind the shrubberies and attack me as I left the house for my morning constitutional, taunt me from his yard, spray on the flowers, bury his droppings in the garden, stop The Woman or The Man from returning home by lying in the middle of the driveway and refusing to move, and entertain me by beating up the other neighborhood cats in our backyard.

I know that it was not just my house. Other Canines informed me of similar situations at their homes. Since I took over this territory, I have witnessed many criminal activities on his part, but opted never to enforce my will. He was a talented hoodlum.

Abby was what all housebound animals desire to achieve. He was an independent mind among the opiated, well-fed masses. He was a Feline that I grew to respect as he showed no fear toward my Shibaness nor disdain. He merely saw me as an obstacle to his routine, and vice versa. I considered him to be a isochronus thorn that I allowed to remain as he maintained the Balance. I am interested in waiting to see which Feline decides to take his place in the neighborhood hierarchy.

So for you, Abby, as you begin your travels to the other side, I say:

Remember the clear light, the pure clear white light from which everything in the universe comes, to which everything in the universe returns; the original nature of your own mind. The natural state of the universe unmanifest.

Let go into the clear light, trust it, merge with it. It is your own true nature, it is home. - Tibetan Book of the Dead

I Am Shiba. I Shall Say No More For Today.

Well, Run Faster Next Time

One of the problems with being The Shiba, is that for some unknown reason, The People seem to think that I should always be on a leash in public. I don't even get one of those retractable leashes like I see small terriers and chihuahuas enjoying (Note: why is it that the smaller the dog, the longer the leash? Is that so they can run around innocent bystanders and trip them?). No, I am limited to a six foot strap with it firmly attached to some Human even when we are walking in the woods.

It's not fair.

This morning, the woods were filled with mice, chipmunks, squirrels and turkeys. I was beyond jazzed at the temptation. In the morning chill, I felt invigorated, alive, and ready to hunt. And my prey, those small furry creatures and those tasty birds, were just out of reach off the trail.

Except for one.

One small little chipmunk, a courageous rodent, crossed the trail directly in front of me.

"He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the Womb of Time." Jack London, Call of the Wild.

His temptation of his own fate excited my soul.

The Chase Commenced.

I dove into the bushes, scattering the fallen leaves which were covering my foe. I jumped a log and pursued my quarry around a tree stump. As the varmit dashed into his hole, I followed, my snout breathing the dandruff of his fur. Quickly, I started to dig-

But then the strap, that damned strap, pulled me back.

The Woman did not appear pleased by my endeavor. It appears that she held the strap throughout the entire chase and was not amused by my pursuit.

Something about "burrs." I noticed that there were these inconveniently sticky things all over the both of us.

Now, I would like to point out that if I had not been strapped to The Woman, only I would have had the troublesome seeds. I would also like to point out that if I had not been strapped to The Woman, that I would have been able to run fast enough to catch that cocky chipmunk.

I will never convince her. The Woman is determined to ruin what should have been a great chase by making it into a contest of wills.

And she did not have to ruin the experience completely with The Bath. I would have cleaned myself, if given enough time.


I Am Shiba. I'll Get You My Pretty . . . In Your Little Log Too!

Le Menu Du Shiba

Amuse-Gueule:
Casserole de Califlower Gratin (Swiss Cheese and Parmesan)

Dinner:
Potage au Poisson avec "California Organic Chicken" Kibble

Dessert:
Friandise de Mother Hubbard

Boissons:
Eau


I Am Shiba. I Like Nouvelle Cuisine.

The Politics of Being Shiba

We are not wolves, living in a pack of alphas, gammas, deltas and epsilons. We hold our truths to be self-evident that all Shibas were created equal, that they are endowed by the Breeder with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are the Life, Liberty and pursuit of Happiness.

Whatever the rest of you think, matters not.

When I take my daily constitution, I can smell the politics in the air. It smells the same as The Man's dirty socks after he works out. There are signs on everyone's lawns, and people argue on street corners over who is right and who is wrong. The television disturbs my breakfast with arguments of right vs. wrong, and high taxes and low taxes. The Woman tells me if our taxes are too high, I can't have as many treats as I want; The Man tells me if our taxes were lower, he could buy me more toys.

One needs not even think where my allegiance might lie.

There are simple considerations that every canine requires. A comfortable crate. Good nutritous kibble. Treats for good behavior. Toys for entertainment. A hike in the woods every now and then, and the feeling of empowerment over decisions of how and where I wish to take my morning and evening constitutionals. I am not asking for more than what Sadie or Rusty have, but rather to life a comfortable lifestyle, better than what my Shiba mother and my Shiba father lived.

This is not asking much, and fortunately, with some hard work and considerable charm, I have worked myself into a comfortable middle-class Shiba household.

But there is more that concerns me. For example, three days ago, The Woman took me to a local park and we collected over 15 beer cans scattered within the trees. There was broken glass on the path and someone had left their mark in paint on the bridge crossing the stream. This distressed me deeply as this is my park and I prefer it to be left undisturbed. Squirrels and chipmunks are easily disturbed and I will not tolerate any loss to the frogs that hop so funny or the turtles that hiss at me if I approach to closely. I protect this spot with scent and presence. How dare others dirty what is collectively mine.

The Woman tells me this makes me an environmentalist. I tell her, this makes me pragmatic. Without squirrels, what is the fun in walking in the woods?

I hear The Woman and The Man discussing things relating to their interests every morning and most nights. But is anyone really protecting mine? I rely upon The Two to provide my required substanence but in the end, it really gets down to if I had opposable thumbs, I could not only feed myself, but I could actually vote or run for office.

And if I was able to run for office, I would ask that everyone spend a day just listening to what their canine had to say. You tell us, if we were smarter we could talk. I say, if you were smarter, you could understand what we are telling you.

And one thing all us canines agree on, is stop leaving beer cans in our parks.


I Am Shiba. And I Approve This Message.

Some Shiba Facts

• While I eat 3/4 of a cup of dogfood per day, I also consume several Mother Hubbard treats (for my excellent behavior, of course) and a handful or two of cheese.
• I am an excellent dishwasher. I am particularly good at washing dishes that are covered in chicken, mashed potatoes, and/or gravy. I am not good at washing dishes that contained broccoli.
• I am exceptionally good at cleaning out cottage cheese containers.
  
• I do not sleep all the time. I merely look like I am sleeping. If one feigns sleep well enough, a squirrel might enter into the house and come near me. If this ever happens, I am ready.
  
• I am not an aloof character. I really am ignoring you.
• Relating to this, real Shibas do not come to their name, unless it is "Treat!", "Walk!" or "Do you want to go for a ride?"
• Speaking of rides, I have helped The Woman log 1700 miles on her new car without ever leaving the state of Connecticut.
• In this car, the backseat is mine. You may not place objects in the backseat while I am present or I will stare at you until you remove it. It is not my job to watch your stuff.
  
• When walking the perimeter of my territory, if any balls are found, they are mine. Even if they are found four blocks away from The Home, it is obviously something that I misplaced and I need to return it back to my toy box.
• If you lose your package of Boston Cream Dunkin Donuts off the roof of your car while driving to work, these are also mine and I reserve the right to consume them immediately- no matter how much traffic I delay while standing in the middle of the road.
• In these cases, pulling on the leash to get me off the road merely makes the process take longer because it slows my eating.
  
• On a recent leaf peeping experience, it was pointed out that I am the same color as the foilage. This is called "Camouflage" and makes squirrel hunting much easier.
• It was also pointed out that I am the same color as The Woman's car. Just as your purse and shoes should match, your car should match your Shiba.
  

I Am Shiba. I Have Spoken.