December 24, 2022

 

When he was 10 years old, my cousin’s little boy took karate.  Dennis
and I used to watch Kama practice on the deck when we visited Hawaii.  He
showed a lot of promise, especially with side kicks.  One time he gave us
a whole demonstration, and it was mesmerizing.  I was sad when I heard he
stopped doing his karate classes.  (Later he would become a cheerleader as
well as an actor).

 

I did a LOT of traveling this year, and most recently, while in the UK, Kama
watched the house, the dog and the cats for me.  A couple of weeks ago, he
went outside the house to check his car, and felt something behind him.
He turned and a coyote was creeping up on him.  He had never seen one come
so close.  Instinctually, he side kicked it, and hit it right in the head,
and the coyote retreated.

 

I read a lot of posts on NextDoor about the coyote problem in Mount
Washington. It’s interesting watching everyone argue about what to do here in
the animal kingdom.  One person blamed the whole thing on the
hikers.  “Why does everyone have to hike all the time!!”  Another
person riffed on this and said it must be the hiking shoe industry to
blame. But clearly we’ve changed their environment, so they have responded by changing.  I would add they have changed us too.

 

Still  I have my hike up and around the hill almost daily. I can’t run it, certainly not in the heat, but my legs are in good shape from it.   My walk at times has included being dragged down the street by my Labrador, Trouble, trying to chase them.  When I say dragged, I mean like taking skin off my back dragged.  Trouble will bolt after those creatures and the only thing to do is to let go.  Although I avoid mornings and twilight, it’s often a negotiation with the heat. In the dead of summer, I go as late in the morning as possible, like 11:00 or so. By noon it will be too hot until dark, and then, well it’s coyote time again.

 

Last Christmas, I did write to you from Santa Fe, but today I write from my
LA perch, where I get to enjoy the hillside, and see the drought in action.  I
have been blessed the past 21 years to stare west into a landscape, watch the
red tail hawks, hear the owls, and experience some wild. I am seeing flocks of birds as I write this.  Considering I can be at Phillipe’s in DTLA in 11 minutes, it’s astounding to me the front row seat I have in Los Angeles.

 

Last December, Christmas in Santa Fe was a negotiation with Sam and Nell.  I won by suggesting we fly, not drive, and they conceded, but only if we could bring the animals.  We settled on 2 out of 4:  little Scruffy plus our new kitten, Bumi.  They both could fit under the seat.  To save a couple of bucks on this, I finally got Scruffy designated as a service dog, declaring the little monster a service animal, and my mental dependence on him.   I’ve come to realize how true that is.  Scruffy has been my best friend for 12+ years.  We’ve been
through some things that many people will never know the details of.

Born somewhere in New Mexico, and adopted by Nell from the Santa Fe shelter, Scruffles, aka Scruffy, proved to be quite the character. Lapdog, bed hog, sprinter, menace, sun-bather, depression-sufferer, and everyone’s favorite, handstand-pee-er. He hated most  children.  He was the bionic dog, having endured 3 surgeries (both back legs, and his spine), plus the removal of all  his teeth. Oddly enough, the latter increased his appetite.  In short we spent a fortune on the little guy.  But every challenge gave him new life.  He liked to sprint like crazy. I know everyone used to tell me not to let him off-leash, but that dog needed it.  I nick-named him Zoom-zoom because when I would let him loose, he would hang back, then sprint toward you like a bullet.  I took him on location to Savannah with me and would let him run around the beach at night, whirling in circles in in the dark under the moon. Anyway, I digress.  When we went to Santa Fe last Christmas, he was a huge pain in my ass. He incessantly whined and barked in the sherpa bag so I had to bounce him like a baby the whole way.  “This is your last trip, Scruffy!”  I said.  “This is it.”

 

So much happened this year that I am forever grateful for.  In spite of
the state of the world– the war in Ukraine, the fentanyl crisis, the near
collapse of our democracy; the failure of protections of women’s health — I
saw my family get better and stronger. Graduations, diving medals, college
admissions, transitions to world-class cities, live performances, international
travel, love–they were all a part of 2022 for Sam, Nell and I.  Along the
way we were assisted by friends, family, colleagues, pet lovers, and each other.  My cup runneth over with people who have given so much to me and my family. 

 

I not only feel grateful and somewhat healed, I feel happy these days. Some
things and moments were priceless….dancing with my Shaffer cousins at
Victoria’s wedding.  Lip-synching We Don’t Talk About Bruno with
Kama, Nell, Sam, Sunny & Miles on Catalina, under the stars.

 

The universe is tricky though and it will put you in your place.

 

About  one year after Dennis died, I sought solace with a psychic
medium. When Dennis crossed over, he was greeting with all of his dogs and
cats.  Like a special room with all of them. This was instantly comforting
and legitimized everything that came next in the medium’s words.  If you knew
Dennis, you know that he was in fact greeting by all of his pets.

 

This year’s animal totem was not the owl or the bobcat.  It was
unmistakably the coyote.  A BIG one.  Trouble and I chased it as fast as we
could in the July heat, running up a hill, then down another hill.  He found the den, but I couldn’t.  Trouble tried to save him, that’s for sure.  We saw something we can’t unsee: little Scruff in the mouth of that monster.  And I don’t know why the universe took Scruffy from us on the walk in July at 11:30 in the morning.  Why did that have to happen, especially to us, who have had more than our share? Why did I have to then make the call to Nell (who cried and cried), then Daniel (who hung up on me in anger), then Kama (who jumped in the car), then finally to Sam at work?  We hunkered down that night in an all-too familiar huddle of grief and disbelief.

 

Why can’t I turn back the clock that one bad decision when I let him off to
do his zoom-zoom’s? Why did my daily walk in the neighborhood – a source of
well-being and solace- have to change forever?

 

Kama’s full name is in fact Kamaha’o Lani E Ka La’akea.  It means a
heavenly surprise sparked by a divine fire.  There’s a lot to unpack
there, as they say. But Kama kicked that coyote in the head hard. That kick was
from all of us.  It was for Scruffy.  And Universe, we are not
backing down. You can go fuck off.

 

One thing is for sure. When Scruffy crossed over, the first face, the first
petting he had was no doubt from Dennis, the dog and cat whisperer. Gentle
hands and soothing words welcomed him.

 

In loving memory,

Scruffy

2009-2022