Friday Five: Pets

Sophia at RevGalBlogPals tells us: "My son's tiny beloved lizard, Elf, is looking and acting strange this week. His skin/scales are quite dark, and he is lethargic. We are adding vitamin drops to his lettuce and spinach and hoping and praying that he is just getting ready to shed his skin--but it's too soon to tell. Others in the ring have also been worried about beloved pets this week. And, in the saddest news of all, Songbird has had to bid farewell to her precious Molly, the amazing dog who is well known to readers of her blog as a constant sacrament of God's unconditional love.

So in memory of Molly, and in honor of all the beloved animal companions who bless our lives: tell us about the five most memorable pets you have known. "

1. DINAH: The first pet I remember really well wasn't mine, but my grandfather's. Dinah was a border collie, as befitted a dairy farmer, although I'm not sure her life on the farm actually coincided with the time when cows lived there. When I met other border collies in the Midwest, later on, I was surprised that they didn't look like Dinah, who looked like Sheba (our neighbor's dog) and Flurry (my honorary uncle's dog) and other border collies in our part of Maine. Recently someone told me that serious border collie people in England occasionally breed in other types of dog to their border collie strains to keep them intelligent, which makes sense. Dinah always came barking out to greet anyone who came to the farm. She liked to sit in Grampie's lap and he liked to have her there, and in her younger days I would take her across to the pasture and throw things for her to catch (sticks and the rubber parts from the old milking machine). I suppose Dinah is the reason I prefer shaggy dogs to smooth dogs.

2. BUNTER. Bunter was the second cat of our marriage. The first one, Finn, had been hit by a motorcycle only a few days after we brought SonShineIn home from the hospital. Bunter, although named for Lord Peter Wimsey's "man," was a female cat, born in a corncrib in rural Minnesota. She was the first cat for each of our children, and lived to be 17. Here's a picture of Bunter, alert and on the job while I and Cordeliaknits are fast asleep.

3. PYEWACKET. Pyewacket was a Siamese gentleman, who was already several years old when we got him as a birthday present for Cordeliaknits, who was temporarily catless. She wanted a Siamese or some other interesting cat, and we made the rounds of the adoption places until we came to one being run by an organization called Last Hope. The cats and dogs were in shopping carts in one of those big pet-supply stores, and we could hear Pyewacket complaining loudly as soon as we walked in. This was the one. Pyewacket was obviously well-socialized by his former owner (I always imagined that that person had not given him up voluntarily, but perhaps had died or gone into housing that didn't allow cats). As soon as he got used to us and our house, he was the most loving cat imaginable. He liked to get under the covers if it was the least bit chilly, and often I would be awakened by a paw gently patting my shoulder so I'd lift up the blankets for him. The girls insisted that he always knew if anyone was feeling bad physically or emotionally and would come to give comfort. After four happy years, he was found to have inoperable cancer and we had to let him go. Here's the last photo we took of him, dignified to the end.

4. WINIFRED. Winifred is Sisterfilms' cat, and is already 14 years old. We got her from Pet Haven (another no-kill organization similar to Last Hope) as a one-year-old whose kitten was already bigger than she. She has never grown bigger than about an eight-month-old kitten but has remained an exceptionally healthy and active cat. For many years she was an indoor-outdoor cat who would occasionally bring us unwelcome presents such as mice, starlings, and decapitated rabbits. We forgave her because of her bravery in dispatching a mouse that showed up one winter morning in Sisterfilms' boot. When Sisterfilms moved to a second-floor apartment, Winifred became an indoor cat and has remained so, now living with Sisterfilms, SonShineIn and The Collector in a big old house (with occasional mice to catch). Since Pyewacket's death she has become more and more affectionate. She even has a blog of her own, although she is sadly remiss in updating it. She's a crafty cat too, as you can see from this photo.

5. RUSTY. Rusty, whom you have met before, is our first dog and will probably be our last. I have had people tell me that they had English Springer Spaniels live to be 19 and still be frisky. Rusty is three. I'm not sure how frisky we will be 16 years from now! We came in from our evening walk a little while ago and he immediately grabbed a plastic soda bottle and raced from one end of the house to the other with it several times. (Although there's a nickel deposit on each bottle, we feel this is a cheap and nearly indestructible toy for him). He also likes tennis balls and his stick, which he found for himself in the woodpile. Occasionally he eats Dove soap. Generally this has no ill effects on his digestion. That's enough about Rusty, but I'll try to find a photo that hasn't appeared yet.

Friday Activities

I spent several hours yesterday unpacking and displaying books and other media for the Halls of Holly Fair bookroom at church. I found a few treasures for myself, including a cassette tape put out by SW Wisconsin Mailorder Co. that has Christmas song parodies that will relate to Onkel Hankie Pants' seasonal job -- things like "Santa Got Run Over by a Forklift" and "Here Come Packages." Should be fun.

Then, after spending a little while chatting with Brother #1, we attended an art show opening! The Photographer has taken a lot of photos of my old high school (scheduled for demolition in the spring) and it's a great show. Here's the poster:

I can credit Rusty for my being able to mount the three flights of stairs to the gallery without having to rest in the middle, as I did the last time relatives had a show there (pre-Rusty and his health-giving daily walks).

After that, we went up the street to celebrate The Expert's 30th birthday, with a delicious dinner of paneer steaks, roasted potatoes and salad, followed by chocolate cake, all prepared by my niece, Polar Bear Artist. Here is a photo of one of her latest creations (she of course draws many more things than just polar bears, but does the college mascot quite frequently for her employer):

Two very tired people came home, and Onkel Hankie Pants sensibly went to bed. I stayed up to check in on Friday Five posts, and then noticed that Rusty had come into the office with a bar of soap from the shower! He was very protective of the soap although he quickly deposited it on the carpet; he growled and made the "bad face" when I remonstrated with him about the inadvisability of dogs eating soap. I was quite mystified by this odd behavior. But, I was also tired, so I went to the kitchen to turn out the light and then was able to come back and retrieve the soap. Rusty followed me into the bathroom and then stood looking at the (closed) toilet rather meaningfully. Came the dawn! I went to check his water dish and it was bone dry. He jumped happily as I was filling it and then drank for quite a while. I will leave it to you to sort out the doggy thought processes that led him to bring soap to tell me he wanted water....

Now I'm off to the actual sale. We are slashing prices in an effort to have as many books, videos, cds, cassettes, and games move out of the church and into people's homes and the several small island libraries in the vicinity as possible.

Random Thoughts Walking along Maine St.

With the recent return of snow, enough so that the sidewalk clearers haven't made it to our sidewalks here yet, I've mostly been walking Rusty along Maine St., which is our main street. It doesn't take more than a teaspoonful of brains to walk the dog, so I get to observe and think about things. Some of the things I've seen and thought about:

• This morning I saw my first Maine Agriculture license plate, and then I saw two more! They are a new addition to the (some say too many) charitable-donation license plates here, and are by far the most colorful, as you will see. We have the lobster plate, the extra money from which goes to lobster research, in honor of my lobstering relatives. There are also the loon plate (facing the opposite way from Minnesota's loon plate, but for the same purpose), the Black Bear plate (I think this one's for U. of Maine - Orono alumni) and the rather generic "UMS" plate for the University of Maine System. And, of course, the standard one with our state bird and flower is quite nice as well.

• There are currently a few "For Lease" signs on Maine Street. The camera/digital photography store, one of a chain of three, has closed, and so has one of the three opticians. A natural skin care store/salon is moving into the optician space, leaving an empty space on the second floor of the former department store where the camera store is now also vacant. A chain video store has closed its Maine st. location, to the joy of the independent DVD rental store and also the game rental shop.
  
• A year or so ago, the Goodwill store on Maine St. closed, reopening in a new purpose-built, larger building in the next town, near Target and so on. The site was empty for a while, but now we have two new businesses there -- the wave of the future -- one sells gelato, locally roasted coffee, and Simply Divine brownies, and the other is a cybercafe and gaming venue. (I mean of course, the kind of gaming where you go to play Guitar Hero, not Las Vegas-style gaming.) Both seem to be doing well. Two more new restaurants have opened as well, one on each end of the downtown section of the street. As you can tell, all these businesses are dependent on discretionary spending or "disposable income." So far they seem to be doing well in spite of our national and local economic woes. I wish them luck.
  
• We have an awful lot of banks. Only two of them, as far as I can tell, are out-of-state banks.
• There's not much on the street that was there when I was in high school (business-wise -- most of the buildings are the same, just not their occupants). Off-hand I would say, apart from one of the opticians and the odd dentist, there's an insurance agency and Day's News (where you can get Italian sandwiches and ice cream cones as well as magazines and newspapers).
  
• License plates again -- Maine doesn't charge as much for vanity plates as some states, so they are quite common. Outside a church once I saw one that said XEGSIS. Last night, by the organic food store, was one that read PRSNKT. But most people, like LEONA B, BABETTE and DE BOYS, are not as creative.
• Rusty has once or twice found a discarded doughnut on Maine Street. He now believes that every municipal trashcan might just hold a doughnut, so he has to investigate each one. Fortunately they are sturdy and he has yet to knock one over.
• Now it's just about time to go for another walk down (or up) Maine Street. And by the way, I did make the biscuits, and they were good!
  

Pictures of snow for people who are lacking it

Here's the moon at 3:30 this afternoon.


Rusty is digging in the snow. He thinks he'll find a squirrel.
Some people don't have any snow! Some people don't have lions in front of their houses! Some people don't have a dog! Here are some photos for all those folks.


The lions are really covered in snow now. Rusty likes to climb the snowbanks.

Snow is here!

For those of you who don't live in snowy climes, here is what you are missing (whether you're happy about missing it or not is up to you!) Snow began late last night or early this morning; it doesn't appear to be too crippling yet, but forecasts are for up to 8" so we'll see. I haven't been out yet, but brave Onkel Hankie Pants has taken the dog for a walk, done a little shoveling, and driven off to spend the day tweaking maps on the computer. Here's what I've seen out the window. To the left, these are the lions that flank our front steps, nearly covered with snow. (As are the steps. The walk from there to the front door is rather steep, and we try to discourage people from using that door in the snowy, icy winter.)

Here is a photo of the arborvitae or whatever it is, next to
our front door. My attempt at artistic nature photography!
It is quite pretty. This is the first "real" snow we've had this season; there was one day when snow came out of the sky and stuck to leaves and grass, but melted on
the roadways and sidewalks and was soon gone entirely.

Next there will be a view of the parking lot across the street (apartment building) which I have entitled "Get out those brushes and scrapers!" You can also see the big overhead electric lines which ensure power outages whenever there is a big ice storm.



And finally, for anyone who wants to see a living being, here is a photo of Rusty, resting from his morning walk, sitting in his favorite chair in the living room. I think the snow had stopped for a while when he and OHP were out, as he wasn't wet at all when he jumped on the bed on his return. It's snowing again now, though. In this photo he was interested in what I was doing going to all the windows and using the camera, but often, he hangs his head over the arm of the chair -- this one has just the right proportions for him to do that comfortably.

When fall comes to New England...

Cheryl Wheeler's "When Fall Comes to New England" is one of many songs on the new Autumn playlist I made on the computer this morning. Some are specific like that one, "Autumn Leaves", and "Turning Toward the Morning." Others are more atmospheric, expressing the ideas of transition, yearning, and nostalgia that come up at this time of year. "My Sweet Wyoming Home", "Miss the Mississippi and You", and the classic Tom Rush version of Joni Mitchell's "Urge for Going" are examples. (And then there's "In München steht ein Hofbräuhaus, Eins, zwei. G'suffa!" No need to explain that one! Or Tom Lehrer -- "Fight Fiercely, Harvard!" They bring fall to mind although it's many years since I've indulged in much beer or football.) What songs would be on your autumn playlist?

Here's a photo of the very beginnings of fall color here in Brunswick.
Onkel Hankie Pants would probably say this tree is stressed in some
way. It's a very tall one, maybe that's why.

Rusty spends a lot of time when he is not sleeping, jumping, or being taken for walks, in the manner portrayed below. He is watching for squirrels. When he sees one, he goes completely crazy, jumping, barking, or making a very odd noise, and scrabbling at the window (or, with even worse effect, the window screens) with his paws. We can hardly wait for the squirrels to hibernate.
You can probably tell that his nose and panting tongue don't do the window glass any good, either.
Today I inveigled him into his crate with a Frosty Paws and escaped to the library for the first in a series of lectures on the topics covered in Field Notes from a Catastrophe. It was about the melting of the Arctic Ice. Only one chapter into the book and I've already learned a new word, albedo. (Look it up! or read the book).
It's a worrying, not to say depressing, topic, but one we all need to be aware of.

I heard today that a friend from Minneapolis will be visiting in October, and perhaps also The Accountant will come from Seattle (not concurrently). I'm looking forward to showing them around Brunswick and environs, taking them to the Farmer's Market -- here's a picture of part of it from last Friday. You can get everything from lobsters to rhubarb jam there; there's also a woman who sells Indian food (naan bread and so on), cut flowers and bedding plants, eggs, and last week, one of the vendors who usually is mostly about vegetables had a sign urging us to inquire about beef hearts and such -- "let's make a deal!"

I've been working on "B is for Berlin" and found some interesting sites to link to.
But just to show that I don't live entirely in the past, I thought I'd update my reader(s) on some more daily activities.

Rusty and I Go to the Farmers' Market

Yes, after nearly two months of fobbing you all off with occasional webquizzes and such, I’m really blogging today. I hope to be more intentional about this now that the Dog Days are over (I mean the hot hot days of July and early August, nothing to do with Rusty.)

Today was one of the days that the Brunswick Farmers’ Market is in business on the Mall. For those of you who have never been here, the Mall is what Brunswick calls the green stretch in the middle of downtown that in other New England towns is often the Green or the Common. (We have a Town Commons as well, it’s more woodsy and a place for hiking and such.) Two hot dog stands have been set up there since time immemorial, and there are park benches and a gazebo. On Tuesdays and Fridays from May till Thanksgiving there is also a local Farmers’ Market.

I’ve been meaning to take Rusty down there ever since we got him, but was a little nervous about his manners. They were not perfect today, but I was able to keep him from eating all the produce (he is very fond of fruit and vegetables and will eat radishes, rose hips, bananas, etc. with alacrity and no apparent ill effects.) As usual he made many new friends, both canine and human, and was much admired. He scored a green bean and two apples, and a tiny squash when we got home. It was also a long enough walk (1 ½ to 2 hours all told, much of which was wandering about the market stalls) that he was quiet for about 5 hours after we got home.

Here is a picture of some of the gorgeous local stuff I bought.




I bought more potatoes than that, of course. I asked about the onion tops on the beautiful red onions, and was told that some people cut them up and put them in salads ( much like scallions, just a bit bigger). So I may try that.

I can’t show you the sweet corn because I ate it for supper, along with a sliced tomato sprinkled with sugar (the way my Grampie used to eat them). I want to make a ratatouille with the eggplant, tomatoes, onions and squashes, and I may have to wait till Friday when there’s another market because the exigencies of keeping Rusty under control made me forget to get garlic, green pepper and basil, all of which were on offer. Note the size of the blueberries if you can see them – they are wild Maine blueberries, not the giant-size cultivated ones. I had a few on some Gifford’s French Vanilla ice cream with a little maple syrup. Probably I will make some blueberry muffins as well.

Some time ago I mentioned that Onkel Hankie Pants is appearing as Sitting Bull in Annie Get Your Gun in Lewiston. The show is midway through its run now. The last weeks of rehearsal, as reported by Onkel H,, put me in mind of a Cole Porter song, “Another Op’nin’, Another Show” from Kiss Me Kate. And so did the preview, which I saw last Thursday:
“Four weeks, you rehearse and rehearse,
Two weeks, and it couldn’t be worse,
One week, will it ever be right?
Then out of the hat comes that big first night!”
I’ll be seeing it again on Friday evening with my brother, sister-in-law and their son. Good times!

Why I Named Our Dog After My Father

About 8 weeks ago, Onkel Hankie Pants and I got our first dog. He's about 19 months old now, an English Springer Spaniel. His AKC registration name is Bessie's Sargent Dublin, and his former owner called him Dubie (rhymes with Scooby). We didn't like that name, so we call him Rusty.
My father's real name was Holman, and people from his family of origin always called him by it. He was named after his uncle, who was named for the Maine writer Holman Day. Because his career was as an NCO in the Army, some people called him Sarge. But to most of his friends, and to my mother's side of the family, he was Rusty, a name he got because of his many freckles.
Some of the reasons we named the dog for him:

• Rusty the dog, like many Springers, has a freckled nose, like my father's
• We got Rusty in Cundy's Harbor, a village in the town of Harpswell, Maine, where my father was born
  
• Rusty (the dog's) father was Stonehaus Sargent Major. Rusty (the man) retired from the Army as a Sergeant-Major.

Since we've come to know Rusty better, we have realized some other ways in which he resembles his human namesake.

• When he is in the house, you know it. Dogs are always present. If you find yourself wondering where the dog is, there's likely to be trouble. My father was the same way. He was an extroverted, loud, almost charismatic figure who filled any room he was in.
  
• Rusty the dog tends to be a bit of a hell-raiser. He is headstrong, and if he is bored and lonely, he will find some activity such as chewing up candles to amuse himself. In my father's early years in the military, the tale is told that "he got awfully tired of sewing stripes on his sleeve and then having to take them off again." Daddy joined the 240th Coast Artillery of the Maine National Guard at 16 and had a lot of growing up to do his first few years in the service. By the time this picture was taken, in Inchon, Korea on March 3, 1953, he was 30 years old and much more mature.

• Rusty the dog is loving and loyal. That's something we expect of dogs. Rusty the man was a loving and demonstrative husband and father. (I can still remember him embracing my mother in a tango-style move and saying, "Kiss me, you fool!" The quotation was slightly inaccurate but the emotion was genuine.) This was borne out during the last two years of my mother's life, as she was fighting (and losing to) colon cancer. For 38 years of their marriage, Mama had cooked his favorite foods, starched and ironed his uniforms *, brought him his coffee, and as we say in Maine, "tended out on him." When she became ill, it was his turn to do the "tending out on" and he rose to the occasion. Other family members helped a lot, but it was his doing of the daily chores, both pleasant and unpleasant, that enabled Mama to die in her own home, in the house she helped build. Just a few months later, he too died there, on his 65th birthday, both literally and figuratively of a broken heart.

* (After Daddy retired from the Army, he essentially refused to wear anything that had been ironed or starched ever again, so Mama retired from ironing.)

It's been nearly 20 years now since my parents died -- the first confused months of grief, the dreams where they were only joking about dying, are far behind me. But I still miss my mother and father very much.
When we were looking for a dog, we talked to several owners who'd advertised dogs for gift or sale in Uncle Henry's. Nearly every one of them described a paragon of dogdom, who never ran off, was entirely obedient, and was only being let go because of some great exigency beyond the owner's control. We were not thought worthy to receive any of those dogs. Then one morning I called a man named Frog who had this beautiful dog whom he just couldn't handle. We heard about his inclination to run off, the window he broke, and other havoc he might wreak. But Onkel Hankie Pants took him for a walk, we saw that he had a sweet nature, and our fate was sealed. He may not be perfect, but he's actually a pretty good dog, and he's ours, and we love him.
My father certainly wasn't perfect. But he was a pretty good father and a pretty good man, and I loved him. So that's why I named the dog after my father, and that's my Father's Day blog.