Our Greatest Fear This Halloween

Halloween, with its haunted woods and houses, eerily glowing jack o’ lanterns, and spooky “Thriller” sounds raising goosebumps on arms around the world, has nothing on most people’s greatest fear. No ghost, no witch, no scream in the night compares to our most brain-chilling fear: cancer.

Cancer is the scourge that haunts daily. It lurks; it hides; it waits. It grows in silence. And, then, when we least suspect it, it appears, its blanched incisors bared, its lips stretched into a sneer unlike any other. It catches us—helpless--in its Grendel-like clutches, and we believe ourselves helpless: cowering, pleading, praying the bite will only sting, that the apparition will flit--a nightmare--into the night. But once this ghost appears, it doesn’t disappear overnight. This fear is real. This is one horror that won’t leave without a fight.

Cancer has hurt everyone at one time or another. Not many of us have escaped its jaws, which clench, grind, and chew us up—physically and emotionally. Whether one of us has fought the monster off or has struggled to wrestle it from a relative or a pet, we have all known its hurt, its devastation, its oppression. In whatever way each one of us has been hurt by this torment, our only way to come away victorious is to fight until the pestilence is finally silenced.

That fight is being waged by a soldier of incredible courage and determination. His name is Luke Robinson, and he has sacrificed the last two and a half years of his life for his war against canine cancer. As a memorial to his Great Pyrenees, Malcolm, who died of bone cancer in 2006, Luke first began his sucker-punch to cancer during his 2,000 mile trek from Austin, Texas to Boston, Massachusetts. He and his two other Great Pyrenees, Murphy and Hudson, won the first battle against cancer finishing the walk on June 19, 2010. During that arduous trip in which they often stayed overnight in a tent alongside the road in hot and freezing temperatures, Luke remained staunch against his invisible adversary-- memories of his beloved Malcolm spurring him on. Luke’s trip was not only personally cathartic, but its mission sounded the bugle to others. Once he had peoples’ attention, he turned to the world of research. He awakened the veterinary world to renewed interest against this scourge in the form of the most powerful ally: charitable donations and sponsorships that would help make further studies and research possible.

This November 7, 2010 Luke, never one for a mere sneak attack, is launching an even more aggressive campaign in his 2 Million Dog walk. People across the United States are joining his war against cancer by walking by themselves or with their dogs in twelve cities across the nation: Atlanta, Auburn, WA; Boston; Cincinnati; Edinboro, PA; Fairborn, OH; Fort Collins, CO; New Milford, CT; Pittsburgh; Poughkeepsie, NY; Richmond, VA; and Seattle. And those not living near any of the participating cities are waging their personal battle in a virtual walk--walking those two miles around their neighborhoods and parks. And some, who are not able to walk at all are donating even as little as $5 for weapons or to boost morale for those walking soldiers.

Luke is asking everyone to donate or raise whatever monies he or she can to support research against canine cancer and for studies in comparative oncology so that, finally, people can drop this scourge to its knees. If one would like to participate at any of the twelve battleground cities around the U.S., he or she is encouraged to walk there, with or without a dog, for two miles. Registry is online for each particular city, and full instructions and contacts are at each site, as well. If one cannot walk in one of the cities on the list, he or she can still join the battle in the virtual walk by registering at http://www.2milliondogs.org/ and at that site creating his or her own fundraising page, which can then be posted to Facebook or MySpace.

People can also join the fight by donating a portion of the proceeds from any event: yard sales, wine-tasting parties, raffles, small auctions, or any profitable event. As well, businesses may send a percentage of profits from goods sold. Any monies collected from such events can be donated through the website, http://www.2milliondogs.org/ and clicking on the “Donations” tab or by contacting Ginger at Ginger@2milliondogs.org.

And here’s another way to get involved. If you buy your dog food at http://www.dogisgood.com/ and enter coupon code “FB#2”, you will get 10% off your order, and Dog Is Good will donate 15% of your total order to 2 Million Dogs (sale items and Never Walk Alone T’s not included). This offer is valid through November 15th, 2010.

Finally, next year’s goal at 2 Million Dogs is to stage walks against canine and pet cancers in EVERY state. If you are interested in organizing a walk in your city for November 6, 2011, please write to Ginger at Ginger@2milliondogs.orgor call her at 901-619-2286. Everyone’s efforts are needed to kill the scourge that is cancer.

www.2milliondogs.org
http://www.2dogs2000miles.org/
Ginger@2Milliondogs.org
901-619-2286

Puppy Up--Part One

This excerpt is part one of four parts. For the next three days I will post here the continuing chapter I had written on Luke Robinson's dog, Malcolm. This chapter is from my enthralling manuscript, THE CELEBERATED PET: HOW AMERICANS MEMORIALIZE THEIR ANIMAL FRIENDS. Thank you for enjoying this chapter, and I would appreciate your all signing on as followers and adding comments. Thanks a lot. Now, here begins Malcolm's story. Thanks, Luke--you are tops.

“Puppy Up”


Species: canine—Great Pyrenees

Name: Malcolm

Born: October 31, 1997

Died: January 11, 2006

Human companion: Luke Robinson


“First and foremost, we go over the rules.”
Luke plopped the roly-poly snow-white puppy on the sofa. The Great Pyrenees sat upright on the cushions, his big paws balancing his body. He grinned, his long tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth, and sat at attention.
“I’m a man,” Luke said. He bent over, hands on hips, and stared into the puppy’s round eyes. “I do things a man’s way.” Immediately the pup lay down, his chin on his paws. He looked the man in the eye. His expression said, “Okay, I’ve got the point. You’ve got a macho issue going on here, but—hey--whatever. This looks like a pretty nice joint, and I’d like to stay.”
The six-foot, chisele-faced management consultant for hi-tech and bio-tech firms lived and worked by codes of organization and self-discipline, though his personality could be as laid back as a tugboat pilot’s. The businesses for which he consulted depended on his attention to detail; the scientists demanded precision and meticulous analysis of research and data. So, too, the pup would have to learn to live by house rules, and that meant men’s rules.
Luke hitched up his jeans and pulled up a chair. The pup sat up, his huge paws balancing his chubby body, and he opened his mouth in a wide yawn.
“So, that’s what you think, huh? Not taking this lecture too seriously? Anyway, as I told you, I’m a man.” The dog grinned, his long tongue falling out of his mouth then rolling up and around his pink, leathery lips. “Don’t expect me to fuss over you as a girl would. I repeat,” he said, a finger in the dog’s face, “This is man’s territory, and I’m not going to talk to you in baby talk, fuss over you, or treat you like a sissy.”
The pup smiled.
“As long as we understand each other, we’ll get along fine. I’ll show you the routine around here, and then we’ll go for a walk,” Luke said showing him the shiny red halter and lead. “Then we’ll come back and have some dinner. But don’t expect food from the table, and there will be no begging.
“You’ll only get dog food. I won’t give you a whole lot of special treats or anything—they’re not good for you. I buy organic dog food, and you’re going to eat that, even if you don’t like it at first.
“As for my bachelor pad, here—well, I like organization, and I expect you to be a good dog. If you’re a good dog and listen, we’ll be buddies, and you’ll have a nice home here.”
He took the puppy off the sofa, patted him on the head, kicked off his boat shoes, and went into the kitchen. Minutes later he walked back into the living room. He stopped dead. Shards of leather lay scattered around the living room. In the middle of the mess lay the puppy, bits of leather shoe lace protruding from his mouth.
“What are you doing!” Luke yelled, running for the toe section of one of the shoes. He held the shoe remnant to his chest. “These cost me a hundred bucks! The pup grinned, the heel of the shoe cupped between his front legs. “A hundred frickin’ dollars.” He flopped onto the couch, the mangled shoe dangling from his hand.

Luke’s job consulting with scientists and hi-tech businesses occupied most of his time, including weekends, but it allowed him a fairly affluent lifestyle, the kind most bachelors could appreciate: a fancy car, a house filled with modern leather furniture, plasma TV’s, and a surround-sound home theatre. Though he could only spend time with his new pup evenings, he hired a pet sitter to care for him during the day so that he wouldn’t be lonely, so that he had his meals on time, and so that he had regular exercise and some human companionship. And he told the sitter to keep the pup from devouring his leather Lazy Boy.
Luke lived with his brother in Castorville, Texas, in the Alsace-Lorraine district of San Antonio. He and Mark shared a ranchito of three acres complete with ducks, chickens, a couple of horses, and some sheep. Though the backyard was fenced in so that during the day the pup couldn’t wander into dangerous territory where ranchers and farmers guarded their livestock with guns, the land beyond stretched into long horse pastures, fields of soybeans, and flat prairie. Luke made it a habit to walk his pup every evening as the sun began to set, without fear of traffic and without dread of running out of space. In Texas a person and his dog could walk forever.
Every afternoon the pup took up his post by the front gate and waited for Luke. For hours the little fellow sat, passersby stopping to pat his head and talk. He watched as all the day’s workers scuttled home, hurrying along the sidewalk, speeding past in cars and trucks. With every hour the number of pedestrians dwindled until, finally, no more passed. Dusk fell, but the pup kept his vigil behind the front gate, never tiring, but only becoming more excited, knowing his reward was imminent: his dad would be taking him for a walk.
As dusk bathed the puppy in shadow, the pet sitter set his dinner in the grass, and he ate ravenously, as most puppies do. Then he sat back down, his face and ears turned toward the direction from which he knew Luke would be coming. Suddenly, his ears pricked. He heard that lovely sound, the quiet purring of his dad’s car.
“Hey, pup!” Luke called. He pulled into the driveway. “I’ll be right there.” He ran into the house to change into hiking boots. The pup galloped to the kitchen door. In minutes Luke flew from the house and attached the lead to the pup’s harness. All the while the puppy sat like a stoic. He was shivering with anticipation but contained his enthusiasm as a man’s dog should.
When they arrived at the river 45 minutes later, Luke stopped and squatted beside his puppy. “Okay, Bud. I know I’ve taken a long time to come up with just the right name for you, but a name is very important. I wasn’t going to make that decision rashly. I had to feel you out in order to choose the one that fits you best. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and Mark and I have come to a conclusion. Your name is going to be Malcolm—of Macbeth fame. What do you think?” The pup smiled, his tongue falling from his mouth, then curling around his lips. “You’re my dog. You deserve a royal name. And something manly, too. So, it’s Malcolm.”
Malcolm stared into Luke’s eyes and smiled, his lips stretched across his face.