No. 91 - The Day the Dog Died
and other considerations
Dinah was a very particular dog. She was born near an active mine in Mexico, and her litter didn’t have contact with humans until they were two months old. She came by her quirks honestly.
After arriving at her new home in Victoria she bonded with David and I, but everyone else remained suspect… forevermore. Our daughter Chloe got a reluctant pass—she came home from volunteering in Ghana post-high school not long after we got Dinah, and although Dinah was put out by this intruder, she must have sensed that Chloe belonged.
She was a gorgeous dog, athletic and elegant beyond measure when she was young. After her arrival at our house, she didn’t move or utter much for about four days. Then one day in the back yard, she started to leap and prance around. To play. “My God”, I remember saying, “she’s like a Lipizzan stallion”. She once scaled our six-foot fence into the back yard when she was being chased by Animal Control. It took us a while to find all the places where she was managing to escape the yard.
She either liked you, or she didn’t. And even if she did like you, she’d still lose her mind if you had the audacity to come to the door. That was her Achilles’ heel—people coming over—which sadly meant that most people never saw the side of Dinah we knew and loved. A sweetheart. A character. A funny girl. Quiet. Never chewed our shoes. Never whimpered or complained. Happy to be outside, happy to be on a walk.
Behold a video where Dinah decimating a stuffy causes her lips to get dry and stick to her teeth (you need sound). CLASSIC.
April 29th was the day that David and I chose for Dinah to go. She was over 14 years old, and she’d been ailing for some time. It was long past due.
We chose to use a service where the veterinarian comes to your house to do the deed in your living room. I happened to see the vet pull up in her Audi; her assistant arrived in something nice, but not that nice. Huh, I thought, I guess you make good dough putting animals out of their misery all day.
The vet was young and glossy and had long, blonde hair. She wore tasteful wire-rimmed glasses. She spoke about as softly as a person can speak without being silent. I did in fact miss some of the things she said. I guess you don’t want to be too jarring around people who are despondent about having their dog put down.
We’d given Dinah a medication that was meant to keep her calm when they arrived—a pipe dream. Even in her drug-addled state, she valiantly attempted to protect us from these intruders with a strangled bellow. Little did she know, they were here for her.
She was in her dog bed in front of the credenza, where she’d been spending the better part of her days. They brought her a fast-food hamburger, which they crumpled up and fed to her on a paper plate. It was surprising, dare I say thrilling to see Dinah eagerly gobble up a “food” the likes of which she’d never tasted. Her last meal!
There was more murmuring, the initial sedation, the vet and her assistant retiring to the hallway to give us time with Dinah, more murmuring, the lethal injection, and more retiring to the hallway. David and I were on the floor on either side of Dinah’s bed, he holding her head and me holding her paw. I used to hold Dinah’s paw when I’d lay beside her to commune with her. I wanted to be holding her paw when she died.
When the vet gave her the sedation, she told us that Dinah would be out of pain instantly. It also gave me instant relief to know that Dinah’s pain would be gone. When they gave her the death shot, well, that was a little too permanent. Watching Dinah’s face during the irrevocability of that moment haunted me for weeks. No! Don’t do it!
Still, it was overarchingly a relief. She really needed to go.
To remove Dinah’s body, they placed her on a doggie-sized stretcher and covered her with a cozy fleece blanket, leaving her head exposed. Well. I’m surprised we didn’t have to pay extra for that tear-jerker moment. They know what they’re doing. I’ll never forget it.
Mind you, I saw the stretcher go into the trunk of the Audi, which is a little less romantic. All in a day’s work.
It’s unfortunate how few people experienced what a sweet and funny soul Dinah was. Somehow, they loved her all the same.
Who was a good girl? She was a good girl.
Good-bye Dinah! I love you XO.
AS I WAS SAYING
Last year, one wall of my studio was covered in sticky notes: it was an attempt to mentally organize myself and the various things I wanted to do at the time. There were things like:
Interview Jill
Work on graphic memoir
Give Taking Note workshop at Aunty Collective
Apply for Canada Council grant
Make painting workshop download
Work on back end stuff in Feed the Monster
There were quotes such as:
Imagine the conversations you’d love to have with those who read your words
and
That which seems like a false step is just the next step
—Agnes Martin
Plus notes to myself such as:
Journal writing and memoir writing are both taking note of your life
and
Anything that moves from your brain, through your hand, to the page, is worthy
One of my many to-do sticky notes said:
I don’t actually remember if there was a specific reason I wanted to do a “Lynda Barry study” back then, apart from being interested in her ideas, and enamored especially with her book What It Is. I’m not sure what I was thinking.
But NOW, now I am doing a Lynda Barry study, and I know exactly why!
I’m cooking up a recurring drawing workshop to start in the fall, and I’m revisiting Lynda Barry for inspiration. I don’t want the workshop to be how to draw but rather let’s spend some time calming our nervous systems and do some drawing that is alive but definitely doesn’t have to be “good”.
Lynda Barry is all about what she calls aliveness in drawing, as opposed to the gaining of technical skill that often results in deadness (my word —ed). Nobody talked about this in art school, no siree. I’m still labouring under the compulsion to produce “good” art, and let me tell you, it’s not the best way to produce good art. If you catch my drift. I’m excited about developing this workshop because I know that I need it more than anyone.
I also want the workshop to include the two-handed drawings I’ve been doing, because I know from experience how good they feel for the old noggin. I did one yesterday, and as usual I found myself humming as I worked. It feels calming, but at the same time as though some other department in my mind is being lit up.
Also—no computers or phones allowed. Doing things by hand is so important. We’re human animals and when we write by hand, for example, far more parts of the brain light up than when we use a keyboard. YOU DO THE MATH.
For more information about Drawing Aliveness, please look here!
A THOUGHT
David and I have been making a point of sitting on the back deck with our coffees in the morning to read or write or look at the trees, rather than go straight to our computers. This only works if the neighbour’s tenant isn’t blasting Joe Rogen from his open door, but when he’s not, boy is it peaceful.
Small changes matter, especially when it comes to prying yourself away from your various screens. Small new habits add up.
BELIEVE IN THE POWER OF SMALL CHANGES!
AND ANOTHER THING
I’m also planning a recurring journaling/writing workshop that will also centre on hand-to-paper, nervous system regulation, and staying in touch with ourselves. It will be a kind of Taking Note “lite” where I’ll provide a different exercise and prompt each time that you can use, or instead you can write whatever the hell you want.
I’ve always made my artwork and written in my journal alone—it’s never occurred to me to want to be around other people when I’m doing these things. I’ve come to understand, however, that some people find it difficult to apply themselves in these ways unless they’re with other people. They find it easier to focus and stay on task that way. One term for this is body doubling. So okay, let’s do it together. Because I believe in journal writing.
For more information about Writing Togetherness, please look here!
Another person who believes in journal writing is Sulieka Jaouad, who has a wildly popular newsletter on Substack called The Isolation Journals. I don’t subscribe to that newsletter—not even the free version—because it’s a lot. I get the sense that as a paid subscriber you’d probably unlock a treasure trove of stuff, but I’ve got my own world I’m trying to live in over here. I’m also not super inspired by the kinds of prompts she provides, though clearly hundreds of thousands of others are.
Lately though, I’ve come to feel grateful for her existence. She’s out there promoting her new book The Book of Alchemy, “a guide to the art of journaling”, and every time I hear her speak I feel vindicated in my crusade for the benefits of keeping a journal. She doesn’t shy away from using the term “journaling”, as I sometimes still do, thanks to its (I fear) connotations of self-indulgent navel-gazing. She’s lovely and well-spoken and I thank her for her service.
Witness her on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert:
No, I haven’t read the book yet, but you can be sure I will.
BYE!
🪞WORKSHOPS! Downloads, and in-person workshops!
🪞Check out my resource page where I’ve started compiling things related to journaling, note-taking, and more.
🪞Visit balampman.com
🪞There's always Instagram
The day Dinah died we cried and we cried
Dinah was the goodest girl 🤍