gwax's rumblings

Yesterday, I went and picked up my new puppy. My puppy is a pure­bred Saint Bernard with strong cham­pion ances­try from Conifer Creek Farm in Rough and Ready, CA.

After a great deal of con­sid­er­a­tion, I have decided to name my puppy Baldr, after the Norse God com­monly asso­ci­ated with light and good­ness. I had pre­vi­ously been con­sid­er­ing Heimdallr and Odin but Heimdallr sounded too cum­ber­some and the breeder, a very friendly man by the name of David McKague, related to me the story of a Saint Bernard named Odin who had been noth­ing but trou­ble. As much as I like to be con­trar­ian and see Baldr as a bit like the Jesus of the Norse, it really is a good name. Baldr was often called Baldr the Good for a rea­son and I think that it’s a very respectable and good sound­ing name for a dog.

I will post pic­tures as soon as soon as I get an xD card for the cam­era a friend gave me or am able to get some­one else to take some pic­tures for me.

I am very sad­dened to report that my fam­ily dog, Browder, had to be put down. Browder was a yel­low Labrador and had reached the ripe age of 13. Browder devel­oped can­cer in his abdomen about a year ago, which he recov­ered from after surgery. A month or so ago, the can­cer came back and it was, once again, removed, though it was more inva­sive this time around. Sadly, it was not fully removed and, about a week ago, it started to make a really strong push for­ward. The can­cer rather thor­oughly over­whelmed poor Browder and he had to be put down yesterday.

When I last saw Browder, in early May, he had just had his most recent surgery and he seemed quite a bit more lively than I’d seen him be in years. It is my belief that, after the last surgery, he knew that he was on the way out and fig­ured that he might as well live things up a bit with the time he had left. I’m so glad that I man­aged to get back east and see him one last time.

I am really going to miss that lazy old layabout. I remem­ber so many times with him; it’s hard to accept that he isn’t any­more. I remem­ber when he was young and would bring us things he found; he was an excel­lent retriever in spite of us never teach­ing him how. He once came home with a live baby owl gin­gerly held in his mouth; he caused the owl no phys­i­cal harm, though I’m cer­tain the shock ruined the poor lit­tle bird; he brought it in, placed it on the floor and looked at us for approval at the tro­phy he’d brought us. I remem­ber when my brother, Joseph, was a tod­dler and he’d climb all over poor Browder, tor­ment­ing him as only a tod­dler can tor­ment a dog; Browder would just lie there, gen­tle as could be putting up with it all. I remem­ber vis­it­ing Tim Jessup place land in Norfolk, CT, tak­ing a Sunfish out on the lake and sail­ing while Browder chased me around try­ing des­per­ately to keep up; he wasn’t a big fan of salt­wa­ter but he was a fan­tas­tic swim­mer. Sure he’d steal food some­times, sure his hair was every­where, but man was he a good dog.

I can’t write any more, it’s too sad. I’m going to go cry myself to sleep.