Nancy and I have a rescue dog…a huge, loving, luv muffin named Ragnar because, according to Paws Place, our local animal rescue operation, he is a Norwegian Golden Retriever whose original owners, Genevieve and Claus Matisen, were fleeing this country back to Ligafjord, just north of Oslo. They are an olderly Norwegian-Jewish couple, (one of very few Jewish Norwegian couples) and they feel like Americas current political atmosphere is to reminiscent of Quizling’s time. But Ragnar was to old to make the trip back to the old country and there was some sort of Scandinavian K-9 passport problem… Anyway, we adopted him. Ragnar is a quiet, old gentleman, highly philosophical in has attitudes about human beings and their way of life. Ragnar can’t bark in English, of course. He barks only in a thick Norwegian accent, but he somehow learned to write in English. (Perhaps because Mrs. Matisen was a middle school English teacher and it rubbed off. )

So, Ragnar writes brief sketches, after he pauses to reflect, on the ridiculous specimens of the human species who come to visit Nancy and I or on strangers who, uninvited, walk up to him and scratch behind his ears whether he wants them to or not because he happens to hate it…. as he and I stroll through town. When he has something on his mind, he grabs his pen and journal and retires to his desk next to his quilted Doggy Bed to scribble his unexpurgated opinion. Sometimes, Ragnar joins Nancy and I in conversation, using his moans, snorts and growls in affirmation or debate, but it’s hard to write in a supine position so he gets frustrated, slowly pushes off the carpet and thumps over to his desk like a red-headed, four legged Mark Twain. to write his observations. Then he brings them to us for me to read aloud. He won’t let anyone read them but Nancy or I. We truly enjoy the hours of hilarity we get when we read his canine meanderings. My most frequent thought is, “Geeze! I wish I’d said that!”

There is only one thing I’d change about Ragnar, the Jewish-Norwegian-Golden-Retriever: He never danes to retrieve….anything. I could toss a grilled 18 oz. sirloin steak three inches from his snout and he would write, “…two inches closer, please…thank you.” We have no idea how or why or when Ragnar’s abhorrence of retrieving arose in his life…. perhaps a genetic quirk? Anyway, he will never budge an inch if I toss anything and yell, “Fetch!” Hope springs eternal, though. One late afternoon while Nancy and I and Ragnar were on vacation, we took a walk around the hotels golf course. Ol’ Rags attention lazier focused as he watched the late golfers slice and putt their way around the fairway in quest of par. So the next day I purchased a half dozen multicolored golf balls at the pro-shop in the hope that…. Well, I should’a had a few beers instead. But Ragnar wrote an essay on golf, praising the sight of humans fetching their own balls! Tramping, or, more often, cruising around in their little electric clown carts to their scattered balls, only to hit the ball again! And Again! And Again! I have his “MISSIVE ON FETCHING”, leather bound along with 19 others under the title, “HUMANS ARE WIERD!” Let me read part of it to you:

“George…You had the ball in-your-hand. But you choose to throw it, far, far away. Nearly out of scent range. And then, you commanded me, ME! who had no say in anything about the throwing or the retrieving it back to you. You just yell, “Fetch, Rags! Fetch” Like it was a past-time of great joy to me! Maybe you think of it as some sort of Quid-Pro-Quo! You bag my shit when we go for walks so I must fetch your balls…. George, I’ve never asked you to pick-up my….excrement. (By the way, removing any claim I may make on territory…) YOU decided to do that ALL ON YOUR OWN. Fine! It is a curious past time, I must admit, but…whatever. You’re only human. Just like those other fellows of your species in those …colorful…costumes decided to chase their own balls after wacking them with, I imagine, a fairly expensive stick! Why ever do they persist in doing that? 4days a week, Weekends! Whenever…. (sigh….) Fine! Enjoy! Just leave me out of it. You go play with yourself. Fetch all you want. I’ll be asleep on the porch. …. In the shade…. Whenever you get home.”

I think Nancy’s been coaching Ragnar. She doesn’t much like golf. We’ve stopped taking walks around golf courses, lately. It’s just too disappointing and there are nicer trails in the woods near home.

And Ragnar keeps on writing.

His current Topic is : “FIXED! RAGNAR THE WORRIED RETRIEVER INTERVIEWS BUTTER- SKOTCH THE GAY SHITZO…. (out to read in a week or so after Ragnar edits his essay.