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Posts Tagged ‘Dogs’

 

Daddy Jim and Corky

Daddy Jim and Corky

My very first dog was a black dog, his name was Corky. He was named after the County my foster/father/Daddy Jim’s ancestors were from in Ireland, County Cork. I’m not sure how he came to reside in Victory Gardens with us, but he was my constant companion and set the stage for the rest of my life – a life that always had a canine presence. In fact, until Buddha died, we were mostly a two-dog family. Either you are a one OR a two/or/more dog family, and we were definitely the more the merrier.

Our first married dog was a German Shepherd named Bones. He was named after the doctor on Star Trek of course, and because Bob’s first dog’s name was Doc and well, because he was a skin and bones stray when we found him at the pound. He loved porcupines, and to our utter astonishment couldn’t stop chasing them in the Berkshire Mountains. Shepherds are supposed to be smart dogs, but our Bones just never gave up despite many needles to the snout.

Anyway, over the years we seem to have adopted brown dogs, except for the Bride’s first dog, a tri-color (black, brown and white) Corgi, and Buddha, who was 100 pounds of long, fluffy, pure, white Samoyed-mix fur. With the exception of Corky, I’ve never owned a black dog. Here is our current canine

Brown Bean Burrito

Brown Bean Burrito

The Rocker's First Dog

The Rocker’s First Dog

The first time I heard about the troubles with black dogs was a few years ago when the Bride and Groom adopted their first married dog, a black Shepherd-mix rescue in Nashville. “He was going to be euthanized,” she said, “because they told me that nobody wants black dogs.” Maybe it was because she was going through her Trauma rotation at the time, that I didn’t give it another thought.

Until I heard about this MA photographer, Fred Levy, who has made it his life’s mission to showcase black shelter dogs for all the world to see.  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/27/black-dogs-project_n_5037181.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000010

Through doing this project, I’ve found that it’s really important to share the idea that there are always so many dogs in need of a good safe home, regardless of what the dog looks like,” Levy told HuffPost. “Maybe someone will see this and consider the gravity of owning a pet, no matter what color it is.”

Who knows, the syndrome is called “Black Dog Bias,” and maybe it started with the superstition against black cats? I know my Irish Nana didn’t even like a black bird to fly in front of her. I get the fear of American Pit Bulls, although I don’t agree with it. I truly believe a dog, any dog, is what its owner makes of it, along with centuries of breeding to make it fetch or swim or herd or whatever. We had to train our Corgis not to nip at children’s ankles when they run, after all that will only do for cows. I asked Bob on a recent outing to get some fresh air, if he wanted to walk through the Charlottesville Albemarle SPCA (CASPCA) and look for an older black dog. http://caspca.org

He said, “Maybe next time.”

Photography by Fred Levy

Photography by Fred Levy

 

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Driveway before the rain

Driveway before the rain

Sometimes we get the juiciest bits of information as an aside. Most journalists know this, we get the agenda to the meeting, but it’s in the stuff we hear in the hallway where we will sometimes find the true story. Or at least, an alternate story. This is why I will always and forever love secretaries; (whoops, the Bride called here) insert – because they knew where the bodies were buried!

Take for instance the latest edition of “This American Life” with Ira Glass. The Bride and Groom happened to hear him speak at the Ryman over the weekend, and coincidentally I caught his latest show in the car. Normally  I’ll catch up with Ira on his older podcasts while driving to Nashville, rarely am I listening live stream. But there I was, left listening the other night in my driveway to “Except for That One Thing!” #518

I was hooked right away. A young couple buy their first home in New England – Check! Bob and I bought our first home in Windsor, MA. They were trying to furnish it by going to auctions, because of course there were no real furniture stores or malls – Check! She got carried away with raising her paddle and put them into debt. I used to go to estate sales and get so frustrated because dealers would outbid me and then try to sell to me afterwards, making a slight profit. What happens next, when she finds the perfect dining room table on eBay, will surprise and delight you. http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/518/except-for-that-one-thing

And this is what Glass does so well with radio. We are better able to identify with someone we cannot see.  Judgement is suspended. Their story becomes our story. He manages to find that edge, where reality and humor can border on tragedy, that middle place where we find ourselves most days.

The place between arcane and insane.

Yesterday, I was visiting with my Richmond cousins and was almost trapped in the mud luge also known as my 1,000+ ft driveway when I returned home at twilight. Tires were spinning and my CRV was churning a mighty brown spray. Just a few short days ago Bob and I had sprinkled salt and sand down our steepest hill after the plow had scooped up most of the gravel and snow. I had just heard about my MIL’s weekend travails, cousins and friends sliding off her snow and ice-packed driveway sideways into the woods. A comedy of errors. And as I sit in my aviary listening to the slow and steady drip of snow melting off the roof, I thought of a new episode for This American Life –  “Life is a Driveway.” https://soundcloud.com/tadpoles-shouldnt-drive/rascal-flatts-life-is-a-highway

This is how Ms Bean feels about winter

This is how Ms Bean feels about winter

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It was a chilly 3 degrees this morning in our neck of the woods. The wind has died down and there’s a peacefulness about this arctic/polar/vortex. Ms Bean sits at the kitchen door and looks outside resignedly. No hawks circling, no sounds of woodpeckers, just the gentle whoosh of gas fireplaces upstairs and down.

Speaking of a house divided by a staircase, let’s talk about the latest Downton Abbey episode. It was near midnight by the time I got home from our expedition to the Paramount Theatre on Sunday. On my way to Kay’s house (she was driving into town with 2 other friends), the woman directly in front of me hit a deer. The poor thing was just sitting wide-eyed in the middle of the road, while we waited for the police to put an end to its misery.

The incessant rain/fog coupled with such a morbid beginning made me wonder if venturing out so late at night would be worth it – but the season premiere of Downton, surrounded by so many other like-minded-Edwardian-loving women, proved otherwise. We feasted on a substantial array of English appetizers, swigged champagne, and thrilled to a lecture by Richard Will, Chair of the McIntire Department of Music at the University of Virginia,.

‘The Music of Downton Abbey” and film scoring was on the docket before that hound’s white rump started wagging along to those famous opening notes. Will and two UVA students performed music of the 20s and 30s, explaining how American ragtime permeated Europe after the war. There was a tension between old and new, the Edwardian and the Modern age. Young women could be seen in a public restaurant unescorted, and all classes were mixing it up on the dance floor. The Jazz Age ushered in a staccato subtext to the romantic, sentimental music that dominated the turn of the century.

I’ll not ruin the plot for those of you without cable, but the new season is shaping up well. There is frisson between fathers and daughters, maids and lady’s maids, and one or two surprising losses. I for one, am still getting over the loss of Matthew, and have to remind myself that the actor is in fact alive and well and appearing on Broadway at the moment. Having just finished reading “Lady Catherine and the Real Downton Abbey,” fact and fiction collide on a regular basis in my brain.

The only cure is take one of those Viking cruises and tour Highclere Castle for myself! Anyone else interested, maybe this Spring? http://www.highclerecastle.co.uk/index.html

Today I’ll cozy up with Ms Bean and search for a Corgi rescue and a good Highclere tour. Stay warm everybody! In the words of Al Jolson:

“Come on along, Come on along, Let me take you by the hand.”

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I’d like to apologize in advance for flooding your mailbox with 2 holiday cards this year. But since I’ve never been one to check my emails constantly and reply immediately to anyone, I received this message from Shutterfly a day late and a dollar short: “We are writing to inform you of an error we have discovered with your recent Shutterfly card order.  When you placed your order, you selected Rounded Corners, Pearl Shimmer Cardstock, or both.  Unfortunately your order has shipped without those options.  Our print facilities are working around the clock to ship your corrected order as quickly as possible.”

I’d also like to apologize to the world for the news out of Texas this week. It seems that Judge Jean Boyd, an elected official who has said she will not seek another term on the bench, ordered a 16 year old drunk driver to a posh rehab facility in California for 6 months, followed by serving 10 years on parole. Well that’s it for him right? College dreams dashed, having to attend AA meetings and be randomly tested for drugs and alcohol until he turns 26. Poor thing. All for killing 4 people and paralyzing one friend, and leaving another in a coma.

I get the outrage about his sentence, but really people is this news? Maybe the term “affluenza” is new, although I’ve heard of it before. Every time a parent runs in to rescue a child from some disaster or another, that parent is saying, “Don’t worry Johnny, We’ve got your back.” Which translates to, “Anything you do, anything at all, has no consequences whatsoever.” A parent from the Country Day School on our peninsula in NJ (called a “tony” suburb by many where brokers, bankers and hedge funders live in Stanford White clapboard mansions by the sea) once told me a story.

Her friend’s child was about to attend a pricey boarding school. The Day School stopped at 8th grade, so many students were shipped off like the British system to fend for themselves at exclusive places like St Andrews or Miss Porters. The mom with lots of time on her hands decided to purchase a condo in the same town in order to “help” that child cope with things… affluenza is when helicopter, or severe attachment parenting goes ballistic.

Extreme wealth is like adding steroids to a cocktail of adolescent rebellion. Let’s see, how can we upset our perfect parents? Shall we dress in black and cut ourselves? Maybe driving drunk will get their attention? Who knew that rehabilitating rich kids is a billion dollar industry, and unfortunately growing? When your kid can’t make it at a regular old boarding school, there’s always Rocky Mountain Academy , a therapeutic boarding school in Bonners Ferry, Idaho. The rules are strict, and the punishment is old-school hippie-based tough emotional love. Boot camps, where troubled teens face harsh treatment in the desert, and sometimes die, are for the middle-class I guess.  http://www.forbes.com/forbes/2002/1014/140.html

And jail time for a juvenile offender is for the poor.

Let’s save our holiday outrage for the real crime – for the children living in poverty who make one mistake and end up in the revolving door of foster care and prison because their parents or guardians cannot afford the lawyers with a “poorfluenza” defense. For the 200,00 children, some as young as 13, who have been charged as adults in our American justice system. http://www.eji.org/childrenprison I have no sympathy at all for drunk drivers, my own foster care was a direct result of someone’s carelessness. But I cannot deny a child of any race or economic circumstance a second chance.

At our Richmond Christmas party last night, I met a rescue border collie. Lexey was starting a new life with a loving family after spending years as a service dog. While petting her, I listened to some of our Big Chill group reminisce about their close calls with the law. I’ll spare you the details, but we all grew up to be tax-paying citizens. photo

 

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“That’s the way you do it.” OK enough Dire Straits,

I mentioned awhile back how I’ve been learning about iPhoto at this new place in town, and what I forgot to say is that I went ahead and splurged on Apple TV. Why? Well, our TV is old enough not to have the ability to connect with the internet for live streaming, and we’re old enough not to have any game cartridges lying around like Nintendo to accomplish the same thing. In other words, in order to get Netflix, we had to buy Apple.

Bob looked at me suspiciously and asked if I was ready to pledge not to abuse this privilege, this ability to watch new movies and old TV series along with new content in the blink of an eye. He was nervous. And I get it, because I would always stay in my office painstakingly watching Downton Abbey for free (with a few commercial interruptions) on my computer whenever I missed a Sunday night episode.

And I missed the last episode of the last season, the one with the car crash! Why buy the whole boxed set of old tech DVDs when I could just pull it up on my TV with ease? I remember watching the second series with the Bride while she was nursing her new baby in Nashville on Netflix. Three generations bonding over Edwardian intrigue. So I started the search on my new Apple TV…

“Does anyone know when @Suburgatory season 2 comes out on DVD? I can’t find any news about it and it’s not even avail on Amazon Instant. wtf”

This just appeared on my Twitter feed from a young, bright, feminist writer. Which makes me feel a little better about being duped. It seems that Downton Abbey is nowhere to be found on Netflix. And so I did what any red-blooded American girl would do, I googled “Why is Downton…” and immediately “..not on Netflix anymore” popped up! AHA!!

The producers of the the Abbey, the reason I bought the Apple, have signed an exclusive contract this past summer with Amazon Prime!

Amazon just signed a deal for exclusive streaming rights to the PBS hit series“Downton Abbey” for the third, fourth and fifth seasons of the show (if they’re produced). In a press release, Amazon announced that “later this year, no digital subscription service other than Prime Instant Video will offer any seasons of ‘Downton Abbey.'” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/01/downton-abbey-amazon_n_2600007.html

If you’re still with me, this means I must download Amazon Prime for $79 per year in order to watch my beloved Downton Abbey. OR, I could buy each episode I missed for about $3 on iTunes. Which makes me feel like Maggie Smith walking into a room with those new-fangled electric lights, shielding her eyes and scowling. The unmitigated nerve!

Amazon scares me a little, It’s like their mission is world domination right? Don’t tell Bob that while he worked the last few night shifts, I binge watched “Orange is the New Black.”

Take that Amazon, she said, holding a screwdriver. This is how Ms Bean feels when forced to get into a car, my sentiments exactly girl.  IMG_0387

Oh and thank you Virginia for voting for a reasonable and rational ticket yesterday, you really delivered.

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Every single place you go there is an opportunity to learn something new. Last night, we were picking up some comfort Mexican food at our newest neighborhood restaurant, when we overheard this guy waiting for his to-go order say that the deer would be starving this winter. He wasn’t exactly a mountain man, but he did look like he knew a thing or two about hunting. So I interrupted his conversation about how many deer had been spotted and/or hit by a car on his way over here, a common subject in this neck of the woods, to ask him why the deer would starve this winter. I was expecting to hear about another snowmageddon.

Instead, he told us that their main food source, acorns, had been decimated by those tasty little critters Ms Bean loved to crunch. IMG_0595In this year of the cicada – where numbers reached one million per acre and sometimes more – not only did the insects hatch their eggs in the branches of oak trees, they managed to feed on and kill off those portions of the tree. I had noticed splotches of dead, brown leaves at the ends of many of our oaks, and I knew the cicadas were responsible. Even though this was the 17 year plague of the cacophonous insect, I was told our trees would survive the onslaught. I didn’t think about the loss of acorns.

Don’t look away Ms Bean, you know you loved them!

 An acorn on an oak tree grew,
The wind around him gently blew,
It whispered to him quite softly
‘Some day from your mother
You will be free
To grow and be a mighty tree’
‘Who’? ‘Me’? A mighty oak’?
The little acorn thought this a joke.

Acorns have been the subject of poetry, like the above poem by Joseph Enright, and have been used in heraldry designs for centuries. In fact, I believe they gave bonny Prince George’s mum, Kate, a crest with an acorn when she married into the Royal Family. Here it is on the right, joined with Prince Wills. There are three acorn sprigs that represent the three children in the Middleton family. And the leaves represent Berkshire, where she grew up.  I like the unicorn!article-2434825-1850314F00000578-643_634x505

Yesterday morning I looked out my kitchen window to see a mama deer with two young fawns nursing underneath her. She stood straight and tall and we just stared at each other. We’ve posted our property so that hunters are forbidden, still I don’t want these beautiful animals to starve. This weekend I’ll be going to a farm supply store, to see what deer would like to eat. They’ve finished off my roses, and the new growth of a few tender shrubs. One even managed to find and trample the fence around a new fig tree, but he only ate half of it. Considerate don’t you think?

Kensington Palace released this photo of the new conjugal coat of arms for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2434825/Kate-Middleton-Prince-Williams-new-Conjungal-Coat-Arms-revealed.html#ixzz2iqKSH400
Follow us: @MailOnline on Twitter | DailyMail on Facebook

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Here I am, inbetween the Love Bug’s morning nap and her Mama coming home from a night shift at the hospital. It’s raining so I guess there will be no trip in the Big Bob stroller to the bagel store for lunch. The diapers were all washed (yes, she wears real cloth diapers) and put away with care, in hopes that St Nick will visit the Music City and find this new, wee one. It’s stranger still that I wrote about holiday stress right before the unthinkable shooting in CT, and now it feels like happiness may be harder to come by this holiday season for the whole country. Why did I turn on CNN this morning to hear that some savvy business is selling bullet-proof backpacks? And others are talking about teaching teachers to handle a gun. So along with learning how to administer an EpiPen shot for the occasional peanut allergy, who thinks we should require teachers to attend a shooting range?

Let’s give ourselves a break – a news break and a happiness boost. This is a short and sweet article about the 5 things you can do to increase your happiness. Or rather, the five mistakes people make; the lies we tell ourselves in order to achieve some sort peace. So by inverse reasoning, you should be able to just stop doing these things and smile. I was intrigued to find there is just one lie I tell myself:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/19/how-to-be-happy-in-life-happiness_n_2287903.html?1355931524&ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009#slide=1875204

#3 “It shouldn’t be work!”

I’m not happy because it’s just too darn hard to be happy. The author, Amy Shearn talks about her friend who is very Eeyore-like, “…terrible things befall her constantly, confirming her belief that the world is a grim place. Her Eeyore-ish, “Oh bother”-ness is so much a part of her that she seems to think happiness is simply not for her, as if some people were just Eeyores and some were just Pooh Bears (happy, simple, kind of dumb).”
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So it’s good to remember that happiness actually takes some work, keeping up with our friends – and not just texting them. Taking time to help those in need – like the therapy dogs that walked into Newton and stole their hearts. Just getting out of our own heads for a time will improve any old rainy day!

The Bride has returned and when I told her I was writing about happiness, she smiled at me and said, “Like being a Grandmother?” So true baby girl!! photo

Here are the other 4 lies:
1) Happiness will come after my big success
2) My happiness comes in a box from Amazon
3) Happy people never quit
4) There’s no point in asking the universe for what I want

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This morning Ms Bean started barking again. I looked out for deer, but looked up to find another hot air balloon coasting down the ridgeline. Good girl! Her ruff was up, and she pranced around the deck protecting us from that big monstrosity. I wonder what she’s thinking. We’ve had a number of them now, it’s not like she hasn’t seen one before in her almost 3 years on this planet mountain. They are all brightly colored, and they all make a strange noise when the flame appears in the sky.

I was surprised to find that the Facebook site I mentioned in the last post turned political rather quickly. The woman who wants to be able to drive legally in Saudi Arabia sent her sympathies to the Muslim women and children in Gaza. I almost chimed in, but restraint and common sense took hold and I held my fingers in check. There is no use arguing with people who think they know God’s will. I’ve begun the hard work of deleting “friends” from Facebook; I have no use for their racist and Nazi/quoting/end/of/the/world pronouncements about our election. As flawed as our democracy is, it’s all we’ve got.

We’re packing for our Big Chill Thanksgiving, in FL this year. These are our true friends, people we’ve known since we were teens. Smart people. There are 2 new grandbabies to introduce to the group, and another engagement to celebrate. I’m going to ask them to sign up for “Global Zero.” http://www.globalzero.org And you may want to check it out too…it’s a movement that asks the world to rethink our nuclear strategy, to “help seize a historic chance to achieve a world without nuclear weapons.” Call me crazy, but sometimes I think we might all want to choose peace.

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The weather gods are predicting a one in a hundred year storm. When we moved back to NJ and bought a Mid-Century Modern Jetson-style ranch in Rumson, the realtor told us we’d have a flood once in a hundred years. We then had the December 11th No Name Storm almost 20 years ago, exactly one month after we moved in. The full moon was aligned with the rising tide.

Our old kitchen appliances went sailing down the street in brackish river water from our garage, and since we were out of state at a conference, our children had to be rescued…along with the babysitter. The babysitter who left the Corgis to fend for themselves in the laundry room. They never named the storm because it caught everyone by surprise.

I am hoping and praying that all my friends and family, and everyone who is living on the east coast in the track of this super storm named Sandy, will be safe. If you are thinking of evacuating, then please pack up your essentials and consider heading west. Now. Believe me, you’ll be glad you did!

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Once upon a time, in a town between two rivers, we had 2 Welsh Corgis. One was the mama, Tootsie Roll, and Blaze was her son. When I opened the door in the morning, they would zoom out in perfect Blue Angel formation, zig-zagging across the yard warning all creatures great and small to stay clear of our territory. Our Vet was Dr Poole, and his daughter Heather was our dog sitter. Here is a painting my sister Kay did of the dynamic duo.

Heather was studying Chinese Medicine in NYC, and so we were agreeable subjects for her acupuncture needles. It wasn’t until we returned from a long trip, to an elderly Tootsie’s tepid reception, that we realized she had been practicing massage on our dogs. It was as if Toots was saying, “What, oh, it’s you again?” No happy, jumping, slobbering kisses for us!

Naturally I jumped at the chance to learn dog massage when our wonderful friend and vet, Dr Barbara Butler, offered a workshop this weekend: “Therapeutic Massage: Chinese Wisdom in Your Hands.” She brought along 2 of her beautiful and very well mannered English Setters, Pearl and Rusty. We learned that “An Shen” and “Tui Na” are methods that originated in different parts of China, but today are used simultaneously to describe all manner of animal massage. Dr Barbara showed us how to calm our dogs during a thunderstorm by rubbing gently in the hollow behind the ears. She also demonstrated how to massage the bladder channel running down a dog’s back to improve their health and well being. Earlysville Animal Hospital will post the diagrams of a dog’s meridian points in the near future. http://earlysvilleanimalhospital.com


Targeted massage can reduce pain, and help with muscle spasms by increasing circulation. It can also soothe joints and connective tissue in geriatric or arthritic dogs. It’s almost like yoga for dogs, an immediate stress reliever. Since our own special needs rescue pup has hip dysplasia, I was eager to try it on her. Ms Bean’s eyes glazed over and she immediately had to lay down. Thank you Dr Barbara and also Dr. Emily Kinnaird, her able assistant, and the staff at Earlysville – the best little animal hospital in central VA! Oh and thanks to Pearl and Rusty too. I have to think they returned to their farm for a nice long nap!

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