Family Members Off Leash
My father is an impulsive man. He is never one to think things through. He makes passionate and impractical decisions all the time. To this day, at 86, he is a handsome man, a Paul Newman type, with a twinkle in his eye. My mother says, “He is the best looking person in the family” and there is no dispute as my brother and sister and I nod our heads in agreement. His charm and looks have served him well throughout life.
My dad was a high school English teacher outside of Boston. It was the perfect job for a man who loves to talk and entertain. In his classroom he had set and captive audiences who no doubt looked at him in awe while waiting and wondering what was going to come out his mouth next. A class scheduled about Romeo and Juliet could be sidelined by an hour dissertation about his tennis game.
Having lost his only brother to a sniper bullet late in WWII, my dad was vehemently opposed to any war. During the Vietnam War error he went on a mission to keep young men away from war. He promoted the educational deferment to his student’s and he would proclaim to his classes, “Everyone is going to college.” He literally kept stacks of Bunker Hill Community College applications in his desk drawer. These were for the students who were not necessarily college bound – my dad would write the application - track down the student and have them sign it, then my dad would mail it in for them.
Life is a performance piece for my dad. He sees himself as always being on stage. When he steps off an airplane or into a room he starts to dance thinking “this is my entrance.” The man lives for an audience.
Growing up with a one man show was forever entertaining as well as exhausting. Our dinners were insane with my dad acting out his day, reciting poetry and singing songs. No one could get a word in, it was all about him. I did look at him with awe because he made life so alive, but there was no space for anyone else. As a kid I often hibernated in my room with dozen of stuffed animals just to get some peace and quiet and to be in my own world where no one spoke.
As an adult, I needed not to be Bob Horne’s daughter so I moved across country. This was over 20 years ago and I still feel guilty for abandoning my parents, it is all my guilt - but more often I am happy that I can breathe.
At 55 years old my dad retired. He claimed that he would pick up other jobs. But his Attention Deficit Disorder always led him to run wild, look for new audiences and adventures. His escape vehicle was his bike. He started out on loose group trips – the main one RAGBRAI –an annual bike ride across the state of Iowa – talk about a marketing coo – this ride is a combination Burning Man, Woodstock, and outward bound – in Iowa. My dad would drive the 1,200 miles out there, bike 500 miles, then drive 1,200 miles home. It was a mecca for him – Boston Bob was a fixture at RAGBRAI for many years.
When there wasn’t a group trip he would go solo. His trips are legendary and impressive in there insanity. One August my brother drove from Boston to Arizona for school, my dad gamely went along, with his bike. In the middle of nowhere in Texas he said, “pull over, this looks good.” He got out, got on his bike and started peddling east towards Boston. My brother continued driving west while looking in his rearview mirror watching him get smaller and smaller. On this trip he bragged that he slept in cemeteries because they were safe and quiet – he would say, “no one is going to bother you in a cemetery”. Over 1,000 miles later, 1,000 miles, the man ended up in Chicago before he got tired and hopped a flight home.
On impulse he would bring home new/used cars, random gadgets, and periodically dogs. Our dogs were treasured members of the family and lived long and happy lives – mainly because we were all home to look after the dog.
My dad found the family’s new dog at the pound.
He claims that he simply stopped to say hello to the dogs…. Then, without hesitation, without consulting his wife, without thinking of any consequences, the man with the attention span of a gnat picked up the fluffy one, Cocoa, and brought him home.
Like my dad, Cocoa was beautiful. He stopped traffic. This was in the 90’s, pre- designer animals; by today’s standards he would have a $3000 price tag and be called a purebred Golden-doodle. He had the fluff, the sashay, the complete rock star attitude….he was also a loose cannon. With my dad and Cocoa the planets had aligned for these two kindred, unleashed, characters to come together – no one knew who was leading who around or who was more out of control.
When the snow melted and the roads cleared my dad was off again – Newfoundland was calling so he decided to bike there, 967 miles. My mom was in charge but she worked full time. Cocoa was often home alone - there was no fence, no borders, no boundaries – no supervision. And in harmony with my father’s life, no one ever said no to Cocoa, he went where he wanted to go and do whatever he wanted to do. It was a miracle that he came home at night.
Unfortunately, for my father and Cocoa good looks and charm can’t cover bad behavior.
Cocoa’s life crashed first.
Cocoa was off leash. He tangled with a neighbor walking her dog on leash. She got knocked down, smacked her face. A trip to the hospital was needed, the police were called.
Cocoa’s world crumbled, he was now wanted by the law.
Cocoa was in serious, serious trouble. Cocoa was sent to the vet until things got sorted out.
Things got messy fast. The injured neighbor refused any apology and directed all communication to their lawyer. The neighbor wanted immediate action. They petitioned around the neighborhood for Cocoa to be put down - not one neighbor signed. The injured party was not deterred, she wanted the death penalty for Cocoa and she went back to the police and the vet in further attempts to get Cocoa put down - no one budged.
As a family it was decided Cocoa needed to get out of dodge. My dad broke Cocoa free and headed north to Maine - we all knew that Cocoa needed to go far away or he would try to come find us –the hope was that a friend or friend of a friend, or honestly anyone in the state of Maine would take Cocoa. As charming as my dad is, and he is incredibly charming, it was beyond even his capabilities to give away a dog with a pending law suit. Back he came with Cocoa.
Both my parents were defeated, emotionally exhausted, and nervous as tics. As the youngest I am the fixer in the family and I wanted to give them a break. My brother and I were living 3,000 miles away in California. I called them and said, “Robert and I can take Cocoa for a while.” An hour later Cocoa was booked on American Airline flight # 186 landing in San Diego at 2:10 the next day.
Robert and I lived in an apartment. We had no yard and no idea if dogs were allowed. But we were game. We became a dog tag team and took turns running miles with him around Crown Point, taking him to doggie beach, bringing him with us everywhere, Cocoa had a lovely break and adapted very well to life southern Cal.
Six months later the coast was cleared after Cocoa’s lawsuit was settled for $80,000. My parent’s made assurances to their dismayed homeowner’s insurance agent that Cocoa would be secured in the yard with an electric fence. Cocoa finally had set boundaries. The reality was that the boundaries calmed him down, he had structure, and along with age, Cocoa mellowed.
My dad was late in getting any boundaries. At age 65 and after 42 years of marriage, he left my mom and Cocoa and dismantled our family – his goodbye letter written on a napkin left on the kitchen counter stated, “moving north”. He found a new audience in a younger woman. When he left it broke us all. I took a time-out and didn’t speak to him for three years. I traveled to faraway places and found happiness with my own adventures. My silence to my dad was my power, it was the only thing I could control with him and it was also my punishment to him.
As in life, time helped, time healed. My anger and hurt shrunk and love and forgiveness prevailed.
My dad’s relationship with his girlfriend didn’t last but he was happy with other new audiences and new freedoms. He didn’t have a care in the world. He reveled in the fact that he had no responsibilities; not even to himself. He refused to take any medication. His high spirits and energies and passions also brought high blood pressure, after six mini strokes his brain was altered.
My dad now lives in an assisted living dementia unit.
Even in his current state he talks to anyone within reach and he entertains the other residents by playing the piano and singing songs. He cheats at Bingo so the he can give the prizes to the ladies.
He still believes he is on stage. Just the other day he called and said, “I am going to sing you a song and I want you to record it” – I played along and gave him the go ahead to start singing. He then proceeded to sing Danny Boy. I wish I did know how to record it because he really is a beautiful singer. When he was done he gave me permission to post it on youtube and generously told me to keep whatever money it earned.
I am happy to hear his voice whenever he calls. He tells me that when the snow melts he is getting out of there, breaking free. He plans to put his Vespa and his bike back on the road and he will be mobile again. But his boundaries are set; his days of roaming are done. Cocoa lived until 16, we still talk in awe about his adventures and his wild spirit. My dad, secured and confined in his new home, still sings, talks, writes stories and dreams about leaving convention and responsibility behind to go on new adventures – in his world he is forever unleashed.
My father is an impulsive man. He is never one to think things through. He makes passionate and impractical decisions all the time. To this day, at 86, he is a handsome man, a Paul Newman type, with a twinkle in his eye. My mother says, “He is the best looking person in the family” and there is no dispute as my brother and sister and I nod our heads in agreement. His charm and looks have served him well throughout life.
My dad was a high school English teacher outside of Boston. It was the perfect job for a man who loves to talk and entertain. In his classroom he had set and captive audiences who no doubt looked at him in awe while waiting and wondering what was going to come out his mouth next. A class scheduled about Romeo and Juliet could be sidelined by an hour dissertation about his tennis game.
Having lost his only brother to a sniper bullet late in WWII, my dad was vehemently opposed to any war. During the Vietnam War error he went on a mission to keep young men away from war. He promoted the educational deferment to his student’s and he would proclaim to his classes, “Everyone is going to college.” He literally kept stacks of Bunker Hill Community College applications in his desk drawer. These were for the students who were not necessarily college bound – my dad would write the application - track down the student and have them sign it, then my dad would mail it in for them.
Life is a performance piece for my dad. He sees himself as always being on stage. When he steps off an airplane or into a room he starts to dance thinking “this is my entrance.” The man lives for an audience.
Growing up with a one man show was forever entertaining as well as exhausting. Our dinners were insane with my dad acting out his day, reciting poetry and singing songs. No one could get a word in, it was all about him. I did look at him with awe because he made life so alive, but there was no space for anyone else. As a kid I often hibernated in my room with dozen of stuffed animals just to get some peace and quiet and to be in my own world where no one spoke.
As an adult, I needed not to be Bob Horne’s daughter so I moved across country. This was over 20 years ago and I still feel guilty for abandoning my parents, it is all my guilt - but more often I am happy that I can breathe.
At 55 years old my dad retired. He claimed that he would pick up other jobs. But his Attention Deficit Disorder always led him to run wild, look for new audiences and adventures. His escape vehicle was his bike. He started out on loose group trips – the main one RAGBRAI –an annual bike ride across the state of Iowa – talk about a marketing coo – this ride is a combination Burning Man, Woodstock, and outward bound – in Iowa. My dad would drive the 1,200 miles out there, bike 500 miles, then drive 1,200 miles home. It was a mecca for him – Boston Bob was a fixture at RAGBRAI for many years.
When there wasn’t a group trip he would go solo. His trips are legendary and impressive in there insanity. One August my brother drove from Boston to Arizona for school, my dad gamely went along, with his bike. In the middle of nowhere in Texas he said, “pull over, this looks good.” He got out, got on his bike and started peddling east towards Boston. My brother continued driving west while looking in his rearview mirror watching him get smaller and smaller. On this trip he bragged that he slept in cemeteries because they were safe and quiet – he would say, “no one is going to bother you in a cemetery”. Over 1,000 miles later, 1,000 miles, the man ended up in Chicago before he got tired and hopped a flight home.
On impulse he would bring home new/used cars, random gadgets, and periodically dogs. Our dogs were treasured members of the family and lived long and happy lives – mainly because we were all home to look after the dog.
My dad found the family’s new dog at the pound.
He claims that he simply stopped to say hello to the dogs…. Then, without hesitation, without consulting his wife, without thinking of any consequences, the man with the attention span of a gnat picked up the fluffy one, Cocoa, and brought him home.
Like my dad, Cocoa was beautiful. He stopped traffic. This was in the 90’s, pre- designer animals; by today’s standards he would have a $3000 price tag and be called a purebred Golden-doodle. He had the fluff, the sashay, the complete rock star attitude….he was also a loose cannon. With my dad and Cocoa the planets had aligned for these two kindred, unleashed, characters to come together – no one knew who was leading who around or who was more out of control.
When the snow melted and the roads cleared my dad was off again – Newfoundland was calling so he decided to bike there, 967 miles. My mom was in charge but she worked full time. Cocoa was often home alone - there was no fence, no borders, no boundaries – no supervision. And in harmony with my father’s life, no one ever said no to Cocoa, he went where he wanted to go and do whatever he wanted to do. It was a miracle that he came home at night.
Unfortunately, for my father and Cocoa good looks and charm can’t cover bad behavior.
Cocoa’s life crashed first.
Cocoa was off leash. He tangled with a neighbor walking her dog on leash. She got knocked down, smacked her face. A trip to the hospital was needed, the police were called.
Cocoa’s world crumbled, he was now wanted by the law.
Cocoa was in serious, serious trouble. Cocoa was sent to the vet until things got sorted out.
Things got messy fast. The injured neighbor refused any apology and directed all communication to their lawyer. The neighbor wanted immediate action. They petitioned around the neighborhood for Cocoa to be put down - not one neighbor signed. The injured party was not deterred, she wanted the death penalty for Cocoa and she went back to the police and the vet in further attempts to get Cocoa put down - no one budged.
As a family it was decided Cocoa needed to get out of dodge. My dad broke Cocoa free and headed north to Maine - we all knew that Cocoa needed to go far away or he would try to come find us –the hope was that a friend or friend of a friend, or honestly anyone in the state of Maine would take Cocoa. As charming as my dad is, and he is incredibly charming, it was beyond even his capabilities to give away a dog with a pending law suit. Back he came with Cocoa.
Both my parents were defeated, emotionally exhausted, and nervous as tics. As the youngest I am the fixer in the family and I wanted to give them a break. My brother and I were living 3,000 miles away in California. I called them and said, “Robert and I can take Cocoa for a while.” An hour later Cocoa was booked on American Airline flight # 186 landing in San Diego at 2:10 the next day.
Robert and I lived in an apartment. We had no yard and no idea if dogs were allowed. But we were game. We became a dog tag team and took turns running miles with him around Crown Point, taking him to doggie beach, bringing him with us everywhere, Cocoa had a lovely break and adapted very well to life southern Cal.
Six months later the coast was cleared after Cocoa’s lawsuit was settled for $80,000. My parent’s made assurances to their dismayed homeowner’s insurance agent that Cocoa would be secured in the yard with an electric fence. Cocoa finally had set boundaries. The reality was that the boundaries calmed him down, he had structure, and along with age, Cocoa mellowed.
My dad was late in getting any boundaries. At age 65 and after 42 years of marriage, he left my mom and Cocoa and dismantled our family – his goodbye letter written on a napkin left on the kitchen counter stated, “moving north”. He found a new audience in a younger woman. When he left it broke us all. I took a time-out and didn’t speak to him for three years. I traveled to faraway places and found happiness with my own adventures. My silence to my dad was my power, it was the only thing I could control with him and it was also my punishment to him.
As in life, time helped, time healed. My anger and hurt shrunk and love and forgiveness prevailed.
My dad’s relationship with his girlfriend didn’t last but he was happy with other new audiences and new freedoms. He didn’t have a care in the world. He reveled in the fact that he had no responsibilities; not even to himself. He refused to take any medication. His high spirits and energies and passions also brought high blood pressure, after six mini strokes his brain was altered.
My dad now lives in an assisted living dementia unit.
Even in his current state he talks to anyone within reach and he entertains the other residents by playing the piano and singing songs. He cheats at Bingo so the he can give the prizes to the ladies.
He still believes he is on stage. Just the other day he called and said, “I am going to sing you a song and I want you to record it” – I played along and gave him the go ahead to start singing. He then proceeded to sing Danny Boy. I wish I did know how to record it because he really is a beautiful singer. When he was done he gave me permission to post it on youtube and generously told me to keep whatever money it earned.
I am happy to hear his voice whenever he calls. He tells me that when the snow melts he is getting out of there, breaking free. He plans to put his Vespa and his bike back on the road and he will be mobile again. But his boundaries are set; his days of roaming are done. Cocoa lived until 16, we still talk in awe about his adventures and his wild spirit. My dad, secured and confined in his new home, still sings, talks, writes stories and dreams about leaving convention and responsibility behind to go on new adventures – in his world he is forever unleashed.
