Yesterday was a Bob Newhart kind of day around here.

Which was actually a little more exciting than it sounds.

This is because Bob complimented my dog one day a few years ago, and I was reminded of it yesterday when they had a “Newhart” marathon playing on one of the cable channels. I kept it on while I worked, but it was very distracting because of those lovable woodsmen Larry, Darrel and Darrel, and those precocious scamps Michael and Stephanie.

I thought it was the funniest show on television back in ’85. I remember the first show too, from the seventies, which my dad loved. He never missed an episode.

There was an attempt at a show in the early nineties which fell flat, but we watched it, that coffeesister and I. We were married by then and she knew I was a Bob Newhart fan, so she supported me in that effort.

So, I went through about five episodes of the old Newhart show yesterday and then Bob showed up for an interview on a late-night talk show. He looked good for being almost eighty, and although he’s slowed down a bit he was still funny. He was asked if he ever gets mistaken for someone else (jokingly, because WHO looks like that, huh?) and I thought he was going to tell about meeting my dog.

He didn’t. Oh well.

Rufus was a solid black Keeshond with a curly rooster tail. He stood about yay high, and he was a sweetheart. Everybody loved him because he didn’t have a mean bone in his little body. I’d never seen him snap or snarl at anyone – he was always ready for a little love when he could get it, and otherwise he’d just mind his own business.

He’d been a Christmas gift to my mom from us, and she kept him for the first four years of his life until she had to leave everything behind one day all of a sudden, so we took Rufus in. He stayed with us for about the next ten years.

During my Hollywood period, when I was doing work in TV and film as an extra, I got booked on Reese Witherspoon’s “Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde,” which wasn’t the greatest movie ever made but it’s the only one that has Rufus in it because he got booked too. He’s not actually in it, because it turns out that photography directors in movies don’t like solid black dogs, clothes or cars because they sort of disappear into a void on film, so they didn’t really put ol’ Rufus in any good shots but he ended up on the DVD in a “making of” segment.

From the “making of” segment on the “Legally Blonde 2:
Red, White and Blonde” DVD- Rufus is in the blue cap

Bob Newhart is in the movie too, and we were all out at Exposition Park in Los Angeles that day filming a scene depicting a “million dog march” on Washington. There were hundreds of dogs and their owners milling around, including Chuck and Grace, who I’d met on a previous gig. They had their two huskies and we were hanging out near a catering truck while the crew set up the next big scene they were going to shoot.

We all marched on Washington that day, which was actually
Exposition Park in Los Angeles. Bob Newhart is shown in
front with Reese Witherspoon, while Rufus and I were
somewhere way in the back, unseen as usual.

Grace asked if she could get us anything because she was going to walk over to the catering truck, so we placed our orders. She returned about ten minutes later, shaking her head and kind of embarrassed. “OH MY GOD,” she said. “I think I’ve just insulted Bob Newhart!”

She told of walking up to the truck but not seeing any bananas. This was crazy, because they ALWAYS have bananas at these trucks, and she really wanted one. So she asked the older gentleman standing next to her if he had any bananas today and he stammered, “I, uh.. I.. don’t, uh.. I don’t.. well.. work here. I’m actually, uh.. I’m IN the movie.”

It was Bob Newhart, who was also there to get a banana. He was wearing some kind of uniform which led her to believe he was a caterer, when actually he was in costume for his character.

She profusely apologized and he accepted, telling her it was okay because it “happens all the time” to him, so she grabbed a few items and rejoined us. She was telling us the story when he came up behind her, eating a banana.

“Hey, uh.. they.. they have bananas.. they were hiding behind the cereal boxes. I brought you one.”

Yes, he stammers like that in real life.. it’s not just an act after all!

He handed Grace a banana and then gave our dogs a look. “Nice dogs,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye and a slight grin. He’d overheard Grace telling us about meeting him and I’m sure he thought it was pretty amusing. We thanked him and he went on his way to get ready for whatever it was he had to do.

I remember that whenever I see him, and I saw him a lot yesterday, so today I thought I’d write about it. Rufus is long gone, and although it’s not a big story or a hysterical one, to me it’s just one of those weird times when worlds collide because I think of my beloved little pal Rufus every time I see Bob Newhart, because Bob said he was “a nice dog.”

He was, Bob. He was the best.

Rufus enjoys retirement after a long, stellar film career

We here at The RhodesTer Chronicles are happy as clams to present you with a guest poster to start off the week, and this is without even having been kidnapped by aliens, for once.

Katherine Hardman lives in a tiny Texas town and holds the title of Honorary Goddaughter. She’s 17 and in high school, yet she writes well beyond her years. Her POSTS are funny, cute and clever,  her FACEBOOK UPDATES are cute, clever and funny, while her TWEETS are clever, funny and cute, in that order.

This kid was born to be a writer, so we hope this opportunity gives her a tiny boost. Don’t forget to subscribe to her blog when you’re done.

This Is A Document In Which I Wrote Words

In which Katherine Hardman makes an utter fool of herself: a story.

Katherine and Bernard

Late this evening, having been successfully lulled into a false sense of security by homemade pizza and delightful British comedy, my mother called upon me to complete a long and gruesome task.

“Katherine,” she said nondescriptly, patting me on the head. “Would you walk Bernard? I walked him this morning.”

I groaned, writhing dramatically on the seat next to her as she continued with, “and your sister walked him yesterday evening.”

“So it’s my turn?”

“It’s your turn.”

At the end of the couch, curled at my feet, was my dog. He’s pretty terrifying. For one, he’s named after the fearsome and utterly dignified Barney Fife. Secondly, despite the fact that he weighs all of ten pounds and currently sports a baby blue bandanna around his neck, he knows his duty.

As soon as the vacuum is within sight, even, he is quite aware of what he needs to do. This being, of course, the act of protecting me from the evils of the vicious vacuum monster. He’ll even cower quite nicely as to make me feel better about the whole situation.

He’s a really great dog.

Pulling myself from the couch and eventually locating his leash, I cracked open the back door with Bernard tailing behind me reluctantly. It was with immense curiosity and glee that he perused the tumbleweeds surrounding our carport, sniffing carefully before deciding that no, he did not wish to relieve himself at this particular juncture, thank you very much.

We circled the driveway in a bit of a haphazard square dance, Bernard requesting I allow him to venture into the great unknown and I insisting we stay within the porch light’s reach.

In an act of desperation, as it had been a ridiculous and unsuccessful three minutes, I pulled him over to the neighbor’s fence. As he snuffled around in the grass with absolutely no intention of marking his territory (what a nice guy), I examined the stars above me.

photo by JP Stanley on Flickr

I’ve always liked stars. On summer evenings, especially, I tend to get a bit emotional and long to commune with the great beast of nature. I picture myself sitting in fields with some boy or other and talking over plans as the stars twinkle above us, a breeze wafting me into a state of happy delirium. This is especially hilarious if you’re aware of the depths in which I fear all aspects of the outdoors. I dare you to send me that “adorable” link you found pertaining to drunk jellyfish. Once I’m finished with my panic attack you will find yourself very, very dead.

As I say, occasionally I get up the idea that it would be a good idea to stargaze, but I have always talked myself out of it. It isn’t necessary, I tell myself, and you have Things To Do.

But tonight was different. Screw that, I thought. I don’t need a boy to show me the stars. I can take the night off from mindlessly wishing I were being productive, and the stars are right here in my driveway. It is now, two weeks before school is set to commence and I begin my journey as a senior, that I am coming to the realization that I could be spending my free time doing enjoyable things.

Thus, there was no time to waste.

I tugged Bernard away from the gate and returned him to his nightly post (i.e. protecting my mother from demons), and started formulating a plan as I changed shoes and turned on the tap to dispense some water for myself. I disentangled a lawn chair from the innards of a closet and tucked my journal under one arm, valiantly pushed open the back door and regarded the scene.

Our neighborhood is desperately quiet even in daylight. Furthermore, at night, none of the other homes have ever been known to leave lights on. Often I wonder if I live amidst a rare species of mute salamanders. For all I see of my neighbors, they actually could be salamanders. I mean, for all I know.

Our back door leads to a carport and driveway, then the gates on two sides and a tatterdemalion shed in which we store our neglected Christmas paraphernalia. Live oak trees surround everything else, twisting to mask most of the sky but for a few patches here and there. Crickets have been known to chirp.

Setting up my chair at an angle in the driveway as to properly view the stars, I uncap my pen with a flourish, open my journal to an incomplete page and began to muse on the beauty of the summer evening.

“Ahh,” I thought, sighing happily. “The stars are so twinkly and bright, the air is balmy and filled with the noises of the night and here I am amongst it. Look at me, out here being independent and daring! This will make a great story..  I will regale people with its glory and they will legitimately cry and I will RULE THE WORLD!!”

This was obviously a logical progression. I thought it up myself, so it must be true.

I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself, I tell you. Here I was, doing something fun (and cheap! Look at this tap water!) without the coercion of my peers. Of course, in my tiny Texas town, fun can be defined in mighty peculiar ways. As far as I have been able to discern, there is this thing called “hanging out” and also cows. There are lots of cows. This is about as far as I’ve gotten.

It is to be noted that, beyond the great and mighty fence they have erected because they hate the world, my neighbors are also in possession of dogs. And, occasionally, these dogs brutally slaughter the fence as to gain a bit of freedom.

It is also to be noted that, without my knowledge, this had occurred again.

photo by ms tea on Flickr

The dog in my story is large and brown, having both terrifying yellow eyes and the talent of wriggling under fences despite her size.

So as I grinned to myself under that pretty night sky and crickets chirped in whatever land they live in, I quickly became aware of another element. A soft, interminable growl. Yellow eyes, a form standing sentry. At her side, a Chihuahua.

Let’s not even talk about the Chihuahua.

At first I considered the possibility that the pair might find me harmless and return to their world of captivity. After all, my dog pees on their fence every day, surely they couldn’t think too badly of me!

Tossing this number aside, I then idled over the idea that they might rush me. I might be able to take the Chihuahua, I reasoned, but the first dog was very large and looked to be readying for the attack.

Frozen on the spot and appropriately sporting a t-shirt proclaiming myself “not a damsel in distress,” I considered my options.

I really didn’t want to be eaten, the whole situation being deliciously ironic enough as it was. My journal entry left unfinished in the middle of a sentence about how utterly clever and proud I was of myself, I carefully began to extricate myself from the chair. The dog kept her place, still growling, as I made my decision..

In glorious slow motion, channeling every ninja thought I could muster and dragging the chair behind me as I went, I scrambled back into the safety of the indoors and hid under my desk for five minutes.

I am so good at having fun.

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Ian Rhodester

I can’t tell you how much I miss this guy. I didn’t even realize it myself until last night.

This is Ian. He was my best friend for a short period of time and in a way, he still is.

I remember finding this one lone dog hair on my suit during a TV shoot a few years back. I don’t remember what the show was – I’d been booked as an extra, and it was not unlike any other show I’d been involved with.

I wore dress pants and a business shirt with a tie, because it was an office setting. I was just a guy making copies in the background and when they went to reset the scene, I sat down and experienced a moment that I’ll never forget.

Ian had been gone for about four months. He’d left suddenly one day, when I wasn’t home. Heart problem, the Vet said. Never saw it coming.

I had these suits I wore for doing the “background acting” gig, which is the technically correct term for “extra,” and do you know how hard it is to keep dark suit pants free of dog hair with a Sheltie around?

It’s impossible.

I’d always be finding some reminder of my old friend whenever I went to work, no matter how meticulously I rolled that hair removal thingy over the suit. After four months though, it was pretty clean. The pants had been to the Dry Cleaner a number of times since he passed, so there was no reason for a little gray hair to still be lingering.

But there it was, plain as day. I plucked it off and stared at it, and then the tears came. I had to leave the set because I didn’t want them see me in this state. Being a lowly extra, they didn’t miss me, they just did another take without me and I managed to sneak back in unnoticed after having composed myself.

That’s how much he meant to me.

I don’t easily trust people who say, “I’m not really a dog person.” That’s not to say they’re bad people, I just don’t warm up to them so quickly.

We went to this guy’s house once and he had three little pups he kept out on the back porch. I thought he’d put them out because we were having a meeting and he didn’t want us to be disturbed so I said, “Hey, no need to banish them to the yard.. I love dogs, let ‘em in!” But it turned out they weren’t allowed in, they’d “ruin the furniture.”

Geez man, it’s just furniture.

I’ve talked before of our blogging pals, Jim and Rene, and how they drop in on us whenever they come blowing through. They travel in a rig, and they used to travel with a swell furry fellow named Jerry, but Jerry has passed from us too. He and Ian are running around up there somewhere, leaving little hairs on clouds.

I guarantee Ian’s leaving more hair than Jerry.

PBS produced a documentary called “Why we love cats and dogs,” which is about the bond between people and their animals. Jim, Rene and Jerry are prominently featured in two segments of the hour long program and it’s available to stream for free at the PBS website.

Jim, Rene and Jerry on the beach

The show looks at how we interact with cats and dogs, and explores the odd psychological glue that binds us with our furry kids, and what makes them so special to us.

It got me to thinking of Ian and his predecessors.. Rufus, Bear, Goofus, Belle and Dopey. Oh, and there was Pancho too.. he was a little long-haired Mexican Chihuahua.

Mean little cuss, but I loved him anyway.

It’s a fascinating bond. There’s a scene where Jim has taken a mouth full of water from a drinking fountain and is spitting it upward so Jerry can lap at it. Jim and I are friends, but I don’t think I’d lap at his stream.

But dogs don’t care about silly things like convention or how things look to people.

We’ve had cats too. We currently have two cats and we’ve had past cats. We have no dogs at the moment. Yes, I sound like a person who works at a small pet store.

This is Tazzy..

Tazzy Kitty

Coffeesister, aka my wife Dorian, swears that this little guy was a fluffy angel sent from heaven to guide her through deep despair. I think she’s right.

He left us too and, just like Ian, it was way sooner than it should have been. He was a kind-hearted, warm and considerate little soul in a tiny package of fur.

Another similarity to Ian is that he left a lot of that fur behind and, in a bit of similarity to me, Dorian will spontaneously burst into tears should she finds a tiny orange hair stuck to a pillow.

They have some kind of brilliant magic, these fur-people, and they use it to make us better. They manufacture memories and leave us with life lessons. Jerry helped Jim and Rene grow spiritually, and Ian helped me grow up.

Tazzy was a comfort and companion to Dorian when she most needed it. His timing was impeccable.

I think you’ll like the PBS show about cats and dogs. It’s nothing deep or scientific, it just kind of looks at the relationship between us and them and says, “Huh, how about that!”

“Why we love cats and dogs” at PBS.ORG

Interview with Rene about Jerry

Tripawds – Jim and Rene’s website dedicated to canine cancer victims.

Live.Work.Dream – Jim and Rene’s blog about life on the road.

Dorian, Dave, Jim, Rene and Jerry in Palm Springs

Here’s how much..

Not seeing the video? click here

in loving memory of Ian and Rufus
Visit petfinder.com to find a shelter in your
area and rescue your future best friend.