Walking the Mona Lisa: The True Story of Ilsa Axel Rose, the Quenn of the Hunting Dogs

By Xlibris US

Walking the Mona Lisa is a true story, although you may not believe some parts. I was there and sometimes I dont believe it.
Its an attempt to chronicle the life of a devoted, compassionate, and gifted golden retriever, and the affect she had on those around her, specifically me. Two family tragedies had left me bitter and alone, and I was convinced I would remain that way for the rest of my life. Then Ilsa came along and all that changed.
Ilsa was purebred golden who came from essentially dog royalty. Her grandfather was Topbrass Cotton who was a National Amateur Field Trial Champion, the equivalent of a Masters or Wimbledon winner. She grew to become a world-class retriever in her own right, and had I trained her differently Im sure she could have won numerous field trials.
At first I didnt recognize Ilsas full potential. That didnt happen until I met my wife, who has a wonderful understanding of dogs. With her help Ilsa grew to become a serenely confident, appreciative and giving being.
Ilsa rapidly grew into a reliable, hard-working, enthusiastic and willing hunting companion. She was doing things at 6- and 8-months old which other dogs wouldnt be able to do until they were 2 or 3 years old. Multiple retrieves were no problem since she trusted me implicitly; if I told her there was something to retrieve she believed me and gave it her best. By the time she was 5 she was better than most hunting dogs would ever be; she rarely flushed birds out of range, she didnt fidget in the blind so as to scare away decoying birds, and she never gave up.
With Marcys tutelage, I quickly realized we needed to reward Ilsa in special ways since she was such a special being. I had been taking her everywhere with me before I met Marcy, including to work and on an extended road trip, but Marcy convinced me she deserved more. We started to give her special food treats such as homemade dog biscuits of various flavors, dried fruit and frozen yogurt. In addition she was a co-host at all our parties, and our friends came to expect Ilsa to greet them at the door.
Ilsa had had a profound effect on me; I had changed from a grumpy, lonely man to someone who once again reveled in the beauties of nature and the simpler things in life. Because of Ilsa I was able to welcome Marcy into my life (and Ilsas) and we became The Three Sweeties.
And we continued to show Ilsa our appreciation by including her in everything we did, including our wedding. She also got to travel with us whenever possible, so that when she died she had swum in both oceans, stayed in 4-star hotels, traveled by private train car, limousine and horse-drawn carriage, and had parties thrown in her honor.
In so many ways Ilsa was much more than just a dog. She was an integral part of our lives and she had a say in most everything we did. Her legacy lives on in our hearts and minds. I will always cherish every moment I had with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493176588

Book preview

Walking the Mona Lisa

This is a story about a dog, but not just any dog; a pure-bred golden retriever, Ilsa Axel Rose, Queen of the Hunting Dogs. Ilsa, a descendent of Topbrass Cotton, wasn’t born into the title, she earned it. She was not only an exemplary hunting dog, but also an exceptional being. Her comportment was nothing less than regal, carrying herself with an air of self-confidence and tranquility rarely seen in humans much less dogs. She radiated beauty and grace. Wherever she went she was always welcome. One minute she could be very silly and the next completely serious. She didn’t flaunt her abilities; she was as humble a being as I’ve ever known. She was utterly devoted to me, as I was to her.

It’s also a story of re-birth; mine. My life experiences left me cynical, crabby, angry and lonely. I doubted I would ever be able to love anyone or have joy in my life. Ilsa changed all that.

This is a true story. Like any story there is a lot of history behind it. Most of it is not that important. But if you believe in karma (and sometimes you don’t until you’re older), a lot of things happen that if they happened differently, would have other results. Some can be relatively small things, like being the youngest of three children, while others can be hugely important, like losing a parent at a young age.

This book isn’t in chronological order; rather the chapters deal with various parts of Ilsa’s and my development. The goal is to give an understanding of what an incredible being Ilsa was and her effect on me.

If I were a religious person, I’d say finding Ilsa was a miracle. Since I’m not, I’d say it was only a matter of time. After knowing Ilsa, I can say confidently we were meant to be together. She changed my outlook on life, opened me up to love again, and probably saved my life. We were soul mates, and the way we grew together told me we had been together in a previous life. I gave her the opportunity to live up to her potential and we both benefited.

Ilsa’s manner was exceptionally calming when she was relaxed and at peace with the world. But when she was hunting, she was all business. No time for affection or standing around, we were wasting daylight. When not hunting or frolicking around, she was serene, calm and welcoming. Like Sister Theresa, trusting, gracious and totally non-threatening. Being in her presence was like going to a spa; you couldn’t help but feel better after time with her.

Mostly it was her face, especially her eyes. Such a beautiful face, a look that said Relax, you can trust me. You couldn’t resist her. As the Borg is to evil and destruction, Ilsa was to goodness and compassion. An epitome of peace, joy and love. She was the Mahatma Ghandi, the Dalai Lama of dogs. She could diffuse tension and disagreement with a wag of her tail. Once people noticed her, they forgot what they were arguing about. She was very disarming. As soon as she looked straight into your eyes you were hers and she knew it. After that, all she had to do was lie there and be captivating. The conversation would quickly turn to her and she’d wag her tail approvingly. People forgot their troubles for the time-being. Everyone felt at ease.

This book got its name on our private rail car trip through Chicago, and at the time I didn’t even know I was going to write it. I took Ilsa down East Jackson Drive, heading for the park along Lake Michigan. At Michigan Avenue we stopped for the traffic light. It was just before 8 AM, a lot of people on the sidewalks, heading off to work. A well-dressed woman noticed Ilsa between us. She gazed down for a minute, looked up and said You certainly have done a good job grooming her. I turned to her with a very chagrined look. I thanked her for the compliment, then explained Ilsa hadn’t been groomed for at least four months. For the past month she spent her time in the field hunting, running through thick cattails, barbed-wire fences, and cockleburs. Whatever grooming Ilsa had was done by Mother Nature. The woman was impressed, and said how beautiful Ilsa was. There was that word, beautiful; the word everyone used to describe her. I thanked her and we went off in separate directions. As we walked along Michigan Avenue towards the park; I said Ilsa, going out with you is like walking the Mona Lisa. Ilsa looked up at me with her enigmatic smile.

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Can’t wait to get to the Palmer House.

Living in the Past

Life is both random and ordered. You choose some things that happen, and others are forced upon you. Every step you take, every decision you make, and everything over which you have no control, brings you to where you are. I don’t think there is any driving force behind decisions a person makes, rather they make the best choice at the time. Right or wrong, whatever they choose, there is a reaction they might not even recognize.

I say this because the life I’ve led, both deliberately and accidentally, ended up bringing Ilsa and me together. I don’t think I deserved a companion like Ilsa because of the tragedies I endured, and I don’t think I earned her love because of the kind of human being I tried to be. I did what I felt was best and ended up a 38-year old bachelor living in North Dakota. Ilsa may have sought me out through the cosmos. I don’t know because she never told; it’s a nice thought though.

The next few chapters describe the experiences that led to our time together. There were meaningful characters, both human and canine, two heart-wrenching tragedies, and a few small triumphs. All of these combined to create my idiosyncratic personality, which was not all happy, I didn’t think it would ever be truly happy, but wanted to be happy so badly. I craved joy, happiness and friendship, and found so little. I cried out for love and heard no answer. Then one day Ilsa found me, and my heart smiled again.

After reading this you might think, So what, all that stuff happened, he just got lucky. I don’t think so. Ilsa was too wondrous a being, with such a huge effect on my life, finding her couldn’t have been just luck.

Setting the Stage

Like many families in the 1960’s we had a dog, Jody. I credit her with my understanding of dogs. Jody was a very red golden retriever and very overweight. We didn’t worry about Jody running around, she was a sweet dog and our neighbors were good. She was great at crossing the street. Granted, our street wasn’t busy, but she moved slowly because of her bulk and needed extra time. She’d walk to the curb, stop, and look both ways. If she could see a car, she’d wait. If a car wasn’t in sight, she’d waddle across. We didn’t worry about the dog-catcher either. She couldn’t outrun him, but she usually out-smarted him. She learned to hide under his truck so he couldn’t get the net over her.

Jody was a phenomenal dog for a young boy like me, patient, kind, tolerant, forgiving, and a great listener. She never followed me around because she wasn’t my dog she was our family dog, but she watched over me. She didn’t stop me from doing anything, but she was there to listen after I did something stupid.

Because I was so much younger than my brother and sister (they were in college when I was still a pre-teen), I was left with no one to confide in. My parents were out of the question; they were my parents! That left Jody. Whenever I had a problem, or needed someone to talk to, Jody and I would sit on the front steps, I’d put my arm around her and talk softly. She’d listen dutifully and give my cheek a quick lick. It didn’t take long for me to believe we could communicate with one another. Jody understood me, and I understood the looks and gestures she gave me. She had a very expressive face and never tired of listening. She was always there for me.

I never gave it much thought until Ilsa was gone, but I became a die-hard female, golden retriever fan because of Jody. Her sense of devotion struck a chord in me because I’ve always had a soft spot for female goldens. They are hard to beat with their kind, gentle nature.

Having Jody prepared me for what was to come after she was gone. I’d always confided in Jody, even in my darkest moments. She taught me things will get better with time. She must have known what was going to happen, that I needed the preparation.

My earliest experience with tragedy came when my Mom died eight days before my 21st birthday, ending her six-month fight with cancer; she was 59 years old. I was very close to my mother. She encouraged me in every way possible. She was vivacious, adventuresome, and the life of the party. I envied her, so I tried to emulate her. It didn’t work. I was a party animal as opposed to a party maker.

The year before she died she went on an around-the-world cruise, without Dad. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to go, or she didn’t want him to come. He just felt he couldn’t take 100 days off from work. Before she went her friends kept telling her she couldn’t go alone for pete’s sake! It just wasn’t done. Mom asked my sister Gay what she should do. Gay said Mom, you’ve always told us to go for it. So go for it! Good thing she did because it was the trip of her life. She said Every day was Christmas and every night was New Year’s Eve. She had a gorgeous tan and looked better than she ever had. She was happy. She was also probably very sick and didn’t know it. Eight months later she was in the hospital.

This attitude was part of her downfall. While in the hospital undergoing cancer treatment, she fell and broke her hip. Because she was sedated my Dad had to make the decision: take her off the cancer treatments to operate on the hip so she could walk again; or keep her on the treatments and not operate, in which case she’d be crippled. Even to Dad, the concept of her in a wheelchair was unfathomable. He told the doctor to operate. She never recovered enough from surgery to get back on the cancer therapy.

After Mom died, our family still had a great time together, but there was usually an air of sadness. We were already close, but we became closer. We were spread out so we didn’t see each other often enough. My sister spent several years in Oregon and Alaska, my brother was in South Dakota, and Dad spent the summers in North Dakota and the winters in California, not far from where I lived. We all missed Mom though, especially at Christmas, her favorite holiday.

I still miss her terribly, even after all these years. Certain songs can bring tears instantly. She taught me so much, basically molding me into the person I am. But hers was not the only influence in my life; there was my sister Gay.

A whole book could be written about Gay, the most astounding woman I’ve ever known. She was extremely intelligent, artistically gifted, willingly adventurous and profoundly silly, with a quick mind and a wit which could strike like lightning. She minored in Philosophy at Wellesley, while majoring in Art. She went on to get her Master’s Degree in Waterfowl Biology at Oregon State University. Very well-read, into a wide variety of music, and motivated to be heard not only as a citizen but as a woman. Being a feminist to her wasn’t a choice, it was what she was.

Gay never let anyone tell her what to do. She took advice, but not necessarily recommendations, wanting to prove she could do it her way, and she did. Uncompromising but tolerant, demanding yet understanding, logical but also emotional, that was Gay. When she died of cancer in 1988 at the age of 40, she was very well-respected in her field, even by those who didn’t agree with her.

Gay taught me a lot, both directly and indirectly. At that time, women didn’t hold many positions of authority, especially in scientific fields. She taught me about independence from an underdog’s standpoint; just because you’re not in the majority doesn’t mean you have to be ruled. Not only was she intelligent and a gifted artist, she was also strong-willed and determined. If she knew she was right it was better to just get out of her way, and since she usually was right, people learned quickly.

The last time Gay and I had a meaningful conversation was on a party barge celebrating the 50th anniversary of an aunt and uncle. I wish I could remember every word, but I don’t remember one syllable from that conversation. All that remains is a great photograph of us leaning up against the rail of the barge. I know it’s the last meaningful conversation we had though, because I never got to see her much alone after that. Whenever I’d come back from San Diego to hunt we’d never have enough time alone. When she’d come to San Diego for Christmas, it was much the same. Every once in awhile we’d have an hour or two at night after Dad and John went to bed, but there was something about being on that boat, on that lake, on that specific night that made that particular conversation special. I can’t remember anything specific, and that is painful. At the time I didn’t know she was going to die in a few years. You never do, that’s the problem.

While Jody taught me a sense of loyalty and devotion, and Mom and Gay provided the extroverted and independent aspects to my psyche, Dad provided the logic. Dad was 52 years older than me, so we didn’t have a lot of time to become friends. Until about 1980 we didn’t share much in common in terms of personal philosophy. As I gained experience I realized he knew what he was talking about. He gave me an analytical mind to make decisions and the confidence to believe in them. Dad was very logical but in a subtle way. He could arrange a situation such that all of the various aspects would be presented and it was up to you to decide which were advantageous and which were not. This taught me to try to anticipate all the options. The only way you could ever get close to winning an argument with Dad was to know all the angles. Deep down, what it does is prepare you for any result. In other words, you understand sometimes you don’t win, but at least you’re ready for it. This helps you in all aspects of life.

Dad’s indirect influence on my training methods was profound, in retrospect. It was my logical side that selected a quiet, seemingly obedient yet adventurous puppy, and kept to a strict training regimen. Following what I learned from Dad allowed me to be strong yet loving, firm yet tolerant, and demanding yet understanding. I tried to anticipate the training process, but at the same time, I tried to stay flexible.

Dad gave me the intellectual strength I needed. But because of what I learned from Jody, Mom and Gay, I would eventually pick a companion to embody their traits; devotion, loyalty, trust, confidence, independence, and unequivocal love. Because of the influence of three beings that existed years before, I was able to share the world with another, Ilsa. And because of her efforts, I was able to enjoy the happiest moments of my life.

Jody, Mom, Gay and Dad were