QUASAR SAGAS
1
It started with a quick car trip to a local convenience store for a pack
of cigarettes, where Quasar was always welcomed in by the staff, circa
1989. A cold blustery blizzard winter day.
Quasar suddenly snatched the pack from my hand and went in wait by the
door. Opened, out he went and waited by the car door pack sticking out
of his mouth. Into the car the pack on the seat. Parked 3/4 of a km
(unlucky parking allocation that year) from the front door of our condo,
quasar picked up the pack from the car seat and trotted the long distance
over open snow and ice, through three corridor doors, then our door into
the condo and dropped the pack at the foot of the small comfy leather easy
chair. Neat, I thought.
It escalated a few days later with me sitting in the chair pack up
ready to open Quasar suddenly snatched it dropping it on the carpet
and fuss fuss fuss stood back, the pack well peppered with indents
and holes from fangs. That was odd, I thought.
The next pack the same, dutifully acquired in the convenience store
into the car, into the condo to the floor in front of the easy chair
and snatched back as soon as I picked it up. This time some cellophane
was removed big tears at the top of the pack, many filters crushed
by fangs.
Progress. A few more times and Quasar had passed past getting the
cellophane off and was going into the packs, at first what a mess.
I still did not know the objective except thought I, dog's curiousity.
After a few more days the lift lid top was fully removed so were most
of the filters.
Then an attempt to open from the side, tried a couple of times,
see photos.
2
Then not too many days later the cellophane off, the lid off, the tin
foil pulled out, the ciggies, however, intact. (See photo).
3
A few days later, the pack intact, a single tear into corner had replaced
tearing the top off, a ciggie showing damage was pulled out ready to
smoke, the intact pack a bit messy. (After the first couple of shots
with a camera flash right in the eyes, this dog always turned his
head aside whenever a camera was ready to flick).
4
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
Then the big day. A single cigarette pulled out ready to smoke, the
pack intact, unmussed, perfect. See photo.
5
6
This is when I realized Quasar's objective all along. Totally self
taught self practiced not a word of encouragement from me showed him
not a thing, he initiated and perfected this task of delicate dexterity
entirely on his own. Needless to say I was impressed, it re-enforced
a belief that dogs are beings. This belief has since extended to all
animals, each different, each with a conciousness similar too and
different than humans. Thereafter every pack was the same, one cigarette
out ready to smoke, perfect every time for another four years.
FOR YOU, A POUND OF BUTTER FOR ONLY ....
It is important to know the position of Quasar's posture, tight to the
floor, chin flat out on the floor, ears all the way retracted, teeth
ready to bare fang to whoever approaches too close to the ransom. In
this case it was the perfectly performed 'jet setter's wrist with a
fancy cigarette opening'. Something of equal barter had to be given
back to the dog before the ransom was released in exchange for the
pack with the heady karmic ready to smoke ciggie.
The dog chose the ransom suitable for the dog's images of the magnetude
of the task being held in hock.
One chunk of a tootsie roll worked in some cases, a whole roll sometimes
didn't work, a bright tennis ball or two was fair deal. Secret stashes
of cooked meats in the fridge were needed to pry open the white 'back
off' teeth for the pack in the photo above, a wad, another, another,
quasar stood backed off sniffing the three lump loot, tail up in a
curl over top.
WE MOVE ON TO THE BUTTER
Circa the same time the cigarette journeys from the corner store home
started, another sagastine started at the same time. Going to the exit
to head out, Quasar suddenly snatched from my hand a purchased brick
of butter, and dutifully carried it into the car up onto the front
seat, and on into the low rental condo.
Quesss what. The first time quasar sojurned home with the cargo, the
butter brick was well pepperminted with fangs deep into the yellow greasy
stuff. Noticable small mutilations in the symmetry of the brick were
self evident, not many however.
Only a few times however and incidences of fang puncters had diminished
to only one or two per brick. And then the fatefull day not long after
when the butterbrick landed on the kitchen floor, only a couple of minor
indents in it no puncture, one you could barely see, and quasar lying
flat on the kitchen floor, dentine whites flashing at every threatening
move, demanding ransom.
MISSING PACK
Back earlier in the low rental condo another Quasar saga was unfolding.
Quasar had assumed a route, from the parked car into our condo, 3/4
of a km away, the route included whizzed car tires including newbies
and cars that were always parked in the same spot, shrubs, building
corners, trees, sign posts, whizz and or sniff each all the way home.
Heading out of the store was always a fast trot straight to the parked
car and wait by the passenger door till I got there. Heading home after
parking, it was straight to the nearest parked car westerly (direction
home). The online communicating (nose out, circles, leg up) took place
on the way home.
One day, in 1990 parking 3/4 of a km away it had snowed a few inches
of fresh snow Quasar and I departed the just parked car, by this time
Quasar had figured out how to do his route back to our condo, dropping
the pack, sniffing a car tire, whizzing, picking up the pack to the next
stop a shrub checking for telephone messages, on to the next stop,
between stops across snow and ice gaps Quasar running to catch up we
got inside out of the cold bitter wind and into the condo.
After yanking off and hanging arctic mid-winter clothes I looked at the
floor in front of the chair then at Quasar, and said: 'where are the
cigarettes'? Quasar who had been trotting back into the kitchen stopped,
looked slightly sideways thinking. Suddenly the long ears flicked straight
up and down (gottit) and there was Quasar at the condo door waiting to
go out.
Out we went into the corridor through the first corridor door, second
door, the long second corridor and out the third door at the end of the
double row of condos accessed by inside corrider.
Across the parking lot to the last car tire whizzed (first on the
rewind journey), then straight on to the corner of the swimming pool,
around it to a condo back yard fence, onward to a tree, to a shrub,
Quasar was backtracking every inch of the way checking every single
stop. We got out onto the road and up it (Quasar doing stops checking)
and on into the parking area behind an 8 story highrise and into the
parking lot, Quasar checking every stop backwards on the entire route.
We got to the car next to our parked car and Quasar had it, there was
the cigarette pack partially buried in snow behind the right front tire
of the first car Quasar had sniffed and whizzed after bounding out of
our parked car. Whizz usually took two or three position tries before
letting loose. In those days everybody's dogs whizzed car tires nobody
minded. This was the only time over several years that Quasar lost track
of a pack of ciggies.
All I had asked is a question: 'where are the cigarettes'? Upon that
Quasar did the entire journey in reverse, the journey typically took
ten minutes plus and involved dozens of stops by the dog every time
we walked home after parking the car.
I learned a lot that day, that dog's like Quasar have photographic
memories, but not perfect, Quasar recognized at once that the new
pack of ciggies was missing but, apparently, not where they were.
Also, dog's like Quasar have long short term memories, because, from
the moment we left the living room in the condo Quasar did only one
task, check each spot on the route backwards until he found the
missing pack of cigarettes. After one short sentence by me.
Quasar thereafter opened every pack for another six years until
Quasar departed into the same afterlife shared by us humans and
other celestial beings. Some dogs, other animals too, birds also,
have made it and survived transition from physical to energy beings,
it has most to do with how well the transistors are remembered and
how much power is in pure love felt for them. These are how beings
survive in the afterlife. It is the accumulating memory, and growing
love field, which constitutes ongoing evolution of energy beings.
FOUND THE MISSING RUNNING SHOES
Scientists at UBC (summer 2009) report that dogs have IQ activities
equivalent to 2/12 year old children and can know over 200 different
words. This, words combined with IQ, also include dog's concept levels,
which can be high.
Ready to depart for groceries in the low rental condo, I could not find
my pair of running shoes via a couple of quick sweeps through the main
floor. Puzzled, I sat down in the condo living room's small leather easy
chair and muttered an equivalent - 'Quasar I can't find my running shoes
any idea where there are', expecting nothing. In the instant Quasar was
on his feet pointing to a pair behind the TV. 'Not mine', said I. Quasar
immediately went to a pair by the front door. 'Not mine' said I again
(was sharing digs with a brother at the time).
Quasar trotted around the opening into the kitchen, I got up to check
it out, Quasar was standing stationary nose pointed a few inches from a
third pair, in the kitchen. 'No, sorry, not mine', said I again. Quasar
paused for a moment, head turned slightly sideways thinking, then suddenly
departed up the stairs, I followed, there was Quasar in the bathroom nose
pointed at a pair. No, not mine' said I, the puzzle of where mine were
ever deepening. Up the hall to a stop, poking into the closet in the
upstairs corridor was Quasar nose pointed straight at my pair which
had somehow been placed in a hurry in this unlikely place then the
door partially closed. Putting on the shoes gratefully found by Quasar
as the fifth pair, out we went to the supermarket, life back to normal.
Except for the extraordinary event of the dog finding five different
pairs of running shoes including two old pair derelects on a single
muttered remark.
The concept of finding running shoes could have been a telepathic hit.
The objective of finding five different pairs was entirely the dog's.
Missing as a final concept correct, was Quasar going straight to my
pair first. Quasar went to the nearest pair first, then systematically
to pairs further away then upstairs continually pointing out pair
locations until he got to mine. It was a dog's photographic memory.
Intelligence researchers have another gong to go on, the dog's
photographic memory was not lineal. The sequence put together to
accomodate shortest routes between two points (per pairs of running
shoes) was crafted after the recorded memory.
QUASAR'S HOME MADE CUSHION
A pair of hands on a five foot nine inch human shows the size of the dog.
The red cushion is seen as is, after Quasar made it.
6
In the early 1990's, brother and I and Quasar had moved to a two story
two garage eight year old home, a rust red sofa cushion brought along
from the low rental condo as Quasar's favorite sleep.
Sound experiments were being conducted daily. See
newsound experiments journals excerpts, and a few photos from
experiments.
A dart to the past, there had been three cushions originally, orphaned
from a worn out sofa. The other two cusions had over a two year period
been chewed into each until unusable and Quasar had moved onto a new
one using it as his personal crash pad. The story involves the third
remaining cushion.
In the new place (with two car garage) a second hand wood office chair
with padding was by the entrance from the living room into the kitchen,
with Quasar's red cushion under a hand built fancy work table with cross
struts between legs a few inches above the floor, behind the chair.
One day Quasar suddenly started into the cushion, very busy at work,
tearing away small fragments of fabric until the opening was a certain
size, (this time no long strips) then into the foam removing small
chunks a few at a time.
This continued for several days then the work stopped. A couple of
days later I noticed the cushion had been manouvered from under the
cross struts of the table legs and was standing upright leaning against
the back of the once expensive office reception chair. Poor Quasar
I thought saying the equivalent of; 'Quasar, I'll help you turn over
your cushion'.
I reached forward to turn over the cushion and got no further, Quasar,
legs spinning on the carpets, had come up the corrider at top speed and
straight into the living room, one fore paw thoroughly pressed into
the upright cushion. I reached forward to move the cushion and the paw
went far deeper into the cushion Quasar motionless staring intently at
me. I backed right off. Quasar trotted back out and around the corner
to a front room.
A day and a half later the cushion had been successfully overturned by
the tactical engineer the dug out socket now underneath. That same day
the next task, manouving the cushion out from behind the chair and down
the living room past sound experiment obstacles into a clear area at
the rear of the living room cross corner from the TV. There the cushion
landed and there it stayed unmoved for another two years where it was
daily Quasar's crash spot whenever he came into the living room to lay
down and sleep.
It seems Quasar had a finished objective in mind before starting work
on the cushion, working on it steadily for days until the fabric opening
was big enough for a pouch dug out of the foam to comfortably fit
Quasar's contours. I do not know how he got the idea in such detail
before starting the project, unless, perhaps, he had dreamed it.
The double garage home was taken over by the owner's son so brother
and I moved into another place, older but suitable, and of course
the cushion with it where Quasar found a suitable place in the
living room where the home made luxury stayed in daily use for
another year until 14 1/2 year old Quasar departed life amongst
mortals.
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