You all sure do make a girl feel at home among friends. Out here straddled between the East China Sea and the Pacific Ocean, I am short on friends yet. The warm fuzzies and the questions and the exclamation points were each and every welcomed. Thank you.
In an effort to fill in blanks left open since last December, I will bring you an update on the fate of our doggliest dog, Maltsby. There was much, much ado surrounding his arrival here in Okinawa but it happened and he's here and I owe it all to a collaborative effort on the part of my mother, father and brother. They all donated big time, big money and big love to Operation Enduring Malt Ball which has left me indebted and grateful and finally reunited with the Ball. Brother Tommy gets the biggest kudos of all since he housed the hairy boy in Pennsylvania for five months while we waited out the lengthy quarantine. During those months there were fleas, dreadlocks, poop worms and mountains of hair delivered unapologetically from Maltsby's heart to Tommy's living room floor. All this for the sake of his sister and her unnatural doggy love. Finally, in late December, he boarded a plane with Maltsby in Boston and all the 396 appropriate documents required by the Japanese government to permit entry of a rabies-free canine. Sure enough there were was a delay in Chicago that caused them to miss their connecting flight from Osaka to Okinawa. After close to a day of travel my brother demanded and managed in all his raised voice-i-ness, direct eye contact and finger-wagging to get exactly what he wanted from what I imagine were some very confused and worried Japanese Office Ladies. A real gentleman, my friends. Magically, a flight the very same evening was granted to them. Later, at home in their wee six tatami mat room, those very OL's cried themselves to sleep and wondered exactly what had transpired between them and the man and the dog. Also later the same evening, Tom and Maltsby arrived at our doorstep intact and, dare I say, no one was covered in their own urine or feces. The glory of it all!
Now, I don't know what I expected from the actual moment of my reunion with Maltsby. A slow motion embrace with licks and laughs? Not really. There is well-documented history that proves that the dog is short on wits. Thusly, I was prepared to be less than interesting in his cute pea brain. And I was. He had no use for me as he did not remember me. All the devotion that I was accustomed to receiving from him was now directed solely at my brother, who, understandably, was ready to be done with the Maltsby shackles. Some suggested that he was perhaps upset with me but I assure you that anger is a complex feeling that would require juggling more than one thought at the same time. This is the bitch that left me five months ago and now here she is and AS IF I care. That's far too many planes for Maltsby to operate on simultaneously. Yet despite my preparation for the rejection I felt slightly defeated to note that Maltsby's love is fickle. I was not his one and only. ANYONE was his one and only until the next one and only.
Three months later and I'm the love of his life again. Mostly the adjustment has been smooth. This house has numerous sliding glass doors for him to pant on and steam up and pursue his life-long dream to be the world's most renowned kitty starer.To top it off there is a balcony from which he reigns fierce but fairly over the neighborhood of Mizugama. Outside of the house, he doesn't get much off-leash time namely because he is untrustworthy when it comes to the felines in the hood. And there are many stray cats of various and curious tragedy limping, scabbing and skulking around our parts. Just today while we were out for a walk I spied what, from a distance, could have been the guts of a teddy bear. As we inched closer it was vaguely looking like a cat but was motionless and white and bloodless but nonetheless in the middle of the street where dead animals usually lie. But it was indeed a cat of sorts. An alive cat with a perfectly formed head (that frighteningly turned in our direction) but an extremely questionable collection of fur and bones below the clavicle. It looked creepily peaceful as it lay in wait for the car that would end it all. I digress.
But patchwork kitties abound and the part of Maltsby's brain that isn't occupied with love and reverence for me is full of these kitties. Therefore walking him is more of a tug-of-war than ever. Recently we've had some kitties shacking up under our patio. They sun themselves and find shelter from the rain and just generally spread their stink over Eli's stroller despite the foil laid out to deter them. For five days now Maltsby has stood vigil in front of the patio doors on the off-chance that those critters might limp and drag their partial selves back to our digs. Twice they have and twice Maltsby has nearly cracked his skull open on the glass in an attempt to, um, I don't know exactly what his intentions are with the kitties. I suspect he'd kill them if he had the chance. And I am not entirely opposed to their demise except that in killing them he'd have to get close to them and getting close to them might mean catching any one of the nameless diseases that riddle these cats.
In addition the the stray cat population there are also some odd dog rituals on this island. It seems that it's just as okay to let your dog out to pee, poop and linger as it would be to let your cat out if, say, anyone really owned these cats. But often there are well-fed, collared dogs roaming the streets and going about their business sans a human. While Maltsby is considered big, even HUGE, and intimidating in the eyes of the Japanese, he is huber passive so when we see these solo dogs I get nervous for his safety. He did get attacked not so long ago by a Dalmatian-like dog. Maltsby laid flat on the ground in defense. I, with the help of adrenaline, lifted the snarling dog in my other hand and held him in the air while he lunged at a very statue-still Maltsby. The owner had actually been with the dog but left while the fight ensued. LEFT. LEFT! To her credit, I suspect she knew that her dog would follow her when it realized she was gone which it did. In any case, the leash-less dogs are daily obstacles. So while adjustment is mostly smooth there have been bumps.
Maltsby's biggest challenge is right here at home: Sir Eli. When we left Maltsby back in the States in August, Eli was barely crawling. To Maltsby he was nothing more than a stationary blob of drooling, puking goo that robbed him of attention. In December, Eli had blossomed into a self-propelling and highly unpredictable machine that could chase, tug, poke and scream at whim. It is a sad tale of unrequited love actually. Eli adores Maltsby. And Maltsby simply tolerates the countless daily indiscretions Eli inflicts on him.
I've said quite enough. It has been a joy to have Maltsby around again. A joy I share with Eli alone. I'm not sure Maltsby even knows the difference or knows that three months ago he was elsewhere. Why bother remembering anything that happened more than a month ago? That would be way too much trouble and thought for an international dog of leisure.
