Damp Dog

Oh! Hi!

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 18:34:00 +0000

‘member me? I’m that velvety buck thingie from a few posts ago. Just thought I’d show you my proud points … my bud’s got a few more, but he’s all camera shy and all. Told him he could use the publicity, but he says he prefers the quiet - one of those anonymous types you know.

Oh! That biped that throws us a bit of corn now and again? He’s still around - slacker! Only see him after dark anymore. Guess he’s got more important stuff happenin’ elsewhere than doing his duty for us. Good thing we’ve got a good crop of acorns this year. The biped still throws yummy bread once in a while, but I’m tired of running for the bread too - you know those foxies are fast and my pointy things don’t scare ‘em at all!

I do have to complain about that pig! What a hog! Always eating all the corn if he gets there first, hummmph! Think he’d have more manners. Have to study that - ‘course, he IS bigger’n me and has got some pointy thingies on his snout too. Guess acorns are ok for now.

Now, that black and white and rust guy in the fence? I wasn’t real sure about him at all. Heard the biped call him a “buffle-something-or-other”. Turns out he’s alright. Doesn’t bark like the rest of the neighborhood’s something-or-others. He just sits there and watches us eat. Sometimes he bows down like he want to play or something - I really don’t understand. He is cute for a something-or-other.

I did hear the biped say he was gonna come visiting … yeah, yeah, yada, yada … I’ve heard it before too …… OH! DOE!

Pee Little Thrigs and a Maldatian

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 15:57:00 +0000

Zoë was perched on the corner of the new stone wall by the front steps, Sphinx-like with her eyes wide and ears pitched slightly forward.

“What’s Zoë looking at?”

“I don’t know, but she sure is interested.”

We peered out into the twilight, seeing nothing, but hearing the crackle of the twigs and the crunch of the leaves in the duff. Zoë was obviously following something in the woods in front of the house - maybe it was somethings.

“Too early for Simon.”

“It’s probably the dogs that ran off when I went to the mailbox.”

“Dogs with an ‘s’?”

“Three, four, maybe more. Haven‘t seen them before.”

“Big?”

“Sortta.”

“Uh oh! Regular pack huh? Hope nobody’s in heat, Gryphon’s gonna be nutz.”

“Don’t think that’s it. Funny dogs … fat … well fed … there they are!”

I looked where “B” was pointing, in the margins along the upper driveway, There was a big black something, 2 smaller black somethings and a big white with black spots something. I started laughing, looked down at Gryphon who was on alert, but sitting beside me and said, “Those? Those are dogs? They’re pigs!”

“Nuh uh!” was the indignant reply and she grabbed the cultivator and marched off.

“Where’re you going?” I said, a little alarmed as she was brandishing her weapon up the drive. I followed after, hoping to prevent a Sus scrofian war.

“Redford’s one too many pigs for me … IF they are pigs!”

“B” stopped. I stopped. The pigs emerged from the junipers and they, too, stopped and stood their porcine ground - probably assessing whether or not we had food in our hands. The white pig with black spots snorted and grumbled.

“Look! It’s the pee little thrigs and a maldatian, out on holiday," I said, laughing. "They‘ll go home when they get hungry.”

“B” stamps her foot and the 4 pigs bolt back into the junipers. “No holiday in MY yard …” she mutters, then smiled and repeated, “pee little thrigs, my ass! What the hell is a maldatian … OH!” She punches my arm.

We walked back to the porch and sat with our drinks. She looked out into the trees beyond and, after a few reflective moments, said, “They did LOOK like dogs … didn’t they?”

I smiled and handed “B” her glasses.

Velvet Buck

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 23:44:00 +0000

I only get to see this boy on the weekends. He usually stops by around mid-morning for a drink and to graze whatever food the does and fawns have left behind. Always cautious. Always alert. He has, however, allowed our presence at the window or on the back deck - with some limits. I am grateful that he allows us this observation time.

Territory

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 21:50:00 +0000

The tendrils of the day’s heat wound their way upwards from the concrete of the porch and the rock of the walls. The air, tolerably cool in the wee hours of the morning, gave way to these malingering waves of heat that caught me by surprise with each wash of warmth. Gryphon lazily rolled over looking for a belly rub; one he was confident of obtaining and my hand found it way to the spots I‘d learned are his favorite “rub spots“, now an engrammic response to his indolent pleas. My mood was pensive, distracted and bellicose; the unrelenting heat and the remains of a pain reliever hangover from the previous week exaggerated my state of mind. Sleep had once again taken leave and though Gryphon was more than happy to have company, I knew that the start of the day would be a struggle - too late for a sleeping pill.

I slipped on my sandals and roused my lazy companion, convincing him (barely) to take a walk. He went on high alert in the dim light of the waning moon; stopping, sniffing, watching the myriad of night creatures, whose movements were beyond my dull human senses. Gryphon let out a snort and kept moving, a seeming “all clear” regarding his threat assessment. I was thinking that it would only be Redford (the feral hog) or something similar that would startle me in these now familiar acres. When we got to the road I saw a fox dart across, but the light was too dim for recognition. I missed Simon. We hadn’t seen him for several weeks. I thought about my attachment to these creatures that we share this space with and how utterly dull this would all be without their presence. I laughed a little thinking that they wouldn’t miss us much at all.

We approached our northern neighbor’s drive and another fox appeared at the roadside. I told Gryphon to sit and he reluctantly did and let out a small whine - I suspected recognition since the fox pass by his kennel fence during the day on their way to the water troughs - I wondered about the canines’ interaction during the day. The fox stood for a few moments before it turned toward our house, the moon reflecting on the fox’s coat and I could see that it was, in fact, Simon. Where had he been? I wondered. I did feel a sense of relief knowing he was ok. Simon had been the first to eat from my hand, but the aggressive deer and the witchy behavior of Samantha, the southern vixen, have kept him from approaching the deck anymore. He remains my favorite for inexplicable reasons and often he would nap just a few feet from me while I was sitting on the back deck. I suppose all things change. I looked up the rough drive of my neighbor’s and wondered if he was ever going to finish his house, thought of the change it would bring and hoped he would not, that he would continue to let the project sit idle.

We walked on and by the time we reached the next drive we had walked a quarter of a mile. A deer, one of the spikes, exploded across the drive and disappeared into the cedars. I was startled, Gryphon was startled and we stopped. I sat on the low, dry stacked rock wall at the neighbor’s entrance and Gryphon sniffed and anointed several spots along the wall - he’s done this many times on our morning walks. I suspect he thinks of it as “his” wall. I began to think of territory and how we humans mark ours. Our way is a complicated marking compared to the animal methods and I thought it would be nice if we could just pee on a spot and claim it. We, however, have to scrape, build, paint, landscape and put up a mail box to do the same thing. A little pee would certainly be simpler, but we seem to need concrete, gutters, perfume, Binks and bougainvillea to establish a place as ours. We are so complicated and yet so simple minded. I looked at my neighbor’s mailbox and suddenly felt like a trespasser. Gryphon marked another spot and we ambled back to the house.

When we arrived I flipped on the back deck lamp and there was Simon, waiting in his usual spot. I opened the door and tossed him a piece of bread. He studied it for a minute and then looked at me. I suppose he was just comfortable in “his” spot. I turned off the light and went to draw a bath, thinking that maybe Simon had been there all along - just not when I was awake. Sleep wasn’t going to come this night, but I relaxed in the knowledge that my friend was back and my mood began to lighten, as would the sky in another hour - another dawn, another day.

An unscheduled break

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 22:25:00 +0000

I know many of you have seen it or experienced the aftermath of the unloading of the Trojan … thus they pretend, but in the hollow side, selected numbers of their soldiers hide* … havoc, confusion, death and destruction! So it was that my faithful laptop companion slowed, vomited, choked and staggered into a death spiral of endless starts with only momentary flashes of the “blue screen of death”. Neon flashes of mindless complacency also appeared in my head, believing my firewall to be impenetrable - it had done its job so very well for several years.

I wonder how often we have to learn and re-learn the value of backing up these mind dumps? I had not run a backup for better than 2 months and I feared for my files on the little 2.5” vault. I just set it aside and installed a new hard drive and started all over again. I had forgotten how fast this little gray box can be without the encumbrances of all the little trail markers and bread crumbs we leave along the way - a fresh start - a new day.

Mostly I was just pissed off and didn’t WANT to take the time to fix something caused by someone else with too much time on their hands. I just walked away from the conflagration and busied myself with other things; thus my absence here for weeks. Fortunately it is all healed including the damaged drive (now rendered a slave) - the enemy vanquished. The imperiled files have been safely tucked away on disc and all is calm here at Casa Vulpini.

*Virgil's Aeneid

Muy Caliente

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:01:00 +0000

I had a post all prepared in my head – something about “Father’s Day” – that is, until I walked out of the office and met the wall of heat. All my thoughts just began to melt away and the coup de grâce was sliding into the seat of the truck and the thermometer reading 113 degrees in the shade. Day…ummm! The official temp was 107, but I happen to work in a geographical anomaly that is typically a heat trap and is 5-10 degrees hotter than the official temperature. My focus was then on getting home to let Gryphon out and into the cool of the house. I watched the temps fall as I climbed the escarpment and by the time I was home it was a respectable 104 degrees – my brain and the post slowly leaking away onto the sizzling asphalt. Gryphon was very glad to get into the house. Fortunately his “day house” only hit 81 that unbelievably hot day, so I think he was gladder to see me than escape the heat. I just wanted a beer and cold air!

Every day for a couple of weeks has been like this, full of good intention to work outside or write or work on a project and then the heat takes precedence as soon as I exit the building. I’ll still write the “Father’s Day” post, but Jimminy Louiseapoo my mind needs to solidify first!

I walked to the back of the house to check on the critters, who are usually gathering about the time I get off work. What I saw was Redford (the hog) wrapped around the #2 water tub. I have to say that I really felt sorry for him and his kin given the lack of natural water sources in the area. I watched for a while and soon he got up and stuck his whole head down in the water. I then unpacked the camera and by then he was in the #2 wash tub – first 2, then 4 wet cloven hooves. Yep! Packed pork in the tub and he stood there for a very long time. I would have never believed he would have fit his 250+ pounds in those confines, but he made it happen!

We’ve become hyper-aware of the need for water for these critters, as they will drain both birdbaths, a 3 gallon feed tub and the 15 gallon wash tub overnight. I see another tub happening this weekend. There is no natural source of water on the escarpment and the river below is quite a ways away. Fortunately most of the neighboring ranches maintain stock ponds and many of us here keep the water available; like my neighbor who keeps a 500-600 gallon tank full all the time. I’ve been amazed at the line of honey bees drinking around the rim of the birdbath in the back – sometimes 20-30 of them at a time.

Spring was too short and there wasn’t nearly enough rain during those months. I fear for our well this year and although we are sitting on the Edwards Aquifer, one of the most prolific artesian aquifers in the world, there isn’t an unlimited supply. We are watering only on a limited basis. We did get a little storm this morning, but it was only a half an inch all total.

I know many of you are being affected as well by these abnormal temps. Be safe! Be cool!

Dry!

Hot!

Dry and Hot!

Muy Caliente!!!

Is fall in the room???

If at first you don't succeed...

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 04:41:00 +0000

I'll just let Samantha entertain you ... add your own narration - surely there's some creative dialog in there ... mine's fled! :)

A return to Buffleopia

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 14:44:00 +0000

On February 13^th, 2005 we opened the gates to Buffleopia, home to the Bucolic Buffledog, a.k.a. Buffledog, a.k.a. Taylor and chronicled here at the Damp Dog. Over the course of time, most of you knew him as the Buffledog and for many of the readers here the name Buffledog has become synonymous with the Bernese Mountain Dog breed. After losing Taylor over 2 years ago I think my mind just retired the name as teams retire player’s numbers. To be quite frank, I didn’t think there would ever be another Buffledog. I stand corrected.

Gryphon is a very different dog than Taylor, but there are some very similar characteristics (aside from the obvious breed ones) that have given both of us pause. Perhaps it is because he is Taylor’s nephew - sired by Taylor's brother Sam. One of the most obvious and endearing common characteristics is the ability to look you in the eye with rapt attention; engaging in a silent and steady conversation – there is more going on in between those fluffy ears than we give them credit for having. There is the quick acceptance of new people that is so very similar, as those of you that got to meet Taylor will know exactly what I’m talking about. Sometimes it is very hard not to call Gryphon “Taylor”, as we have done more often than we probably should admit.

Gryphon does bring both exuberance and energy to Buffleopia that we sorely missed with Taylor because of his multiple orthopedic issues. Some days Gryphon is like an F-18 with its afterburners engaged and it remains an unexpected event when he bursts into this kind of speed play! There is also a steady calm that Gryphon can display and it is that calm that makes him an excellent candidate to train for a Delta certification. I had such good experiences taking Taylor to the retirement community that my dad lives in that we want to carry this kind of engagement to a more involved level locally. There is always a need for Delta dogs in the hospitals and elder care facilities. Gryphon has already enriched our lives in so many ways that it seems a shame not to share this with those who could benefit so greatly from such wonderful interaction.

The boy is also a master thief, a regular klepto-dog! A very stealthy klepto-dog! More than once we have been engaged with a movie or show and he busies himself by gathering up all our shoes, all his toys and all the cats' toys. Then he's emptying the laundry hamper and grabbing the towels from both the downstairs bathrooms as well as from the kitchen. All of these items will then be piled on his bed and at some point one of us will look up and there he will be, right in the middle of his feathered nest with a grin of satisfaction on his face. It is hard not to laugh at this Buffle-wuzzle. What a funny boy!

I was concerned about our wildlife population here at Vulpine Acres and how they would all react to Gryphon’s presence. Giving chase has not been an issue and he merely talks to them as only dogs can talk – deer, fox and, of course, cats. I was afraid that his scent or his spoor would scare some of them away, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. In fact, several of the fox and deer are becoming bolder and staying closer even when we are outside. He’s stood within 6 feet of Simon (the alpha male fox) and dropped into the play pose when he saw Buckwheat (the little male deer from last year – who is growing a pretty impressive rack this year) and Buckwheat just looked at him. All three cats have come to a place of acceptance with him with varying degrees of contact. The Vulpine Café remains open and busy and we are much relieved.

So the gates to Buffleopia have once again been opened and Buffleopia is certainly more populated. Though there may only be one Bucolic Buffledog, Gryphon is certainly a Buffledog of the first order. The connection between Gryphon and us was the right call by the breeder and we cannot thank her enough for both her gift and her insight. Let the social lubricity begin!

Well…they weren’t usin’ it!

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 05:01:00 +0000

I’ve had a lot of cats over the years, but not until now have I ever had a hydro-kitty. Izzy is fascinated with water and not idly so. First thing in the morning while I’m filling the coffee maker from the RO (reverse osmosis filter) tap, she wants me to turn on the main tap so she can sit in the sink and drink from it. Washing dishes, there is Izzy wanting to paw at the suds or the running water. Run a bath and she can hear the tub filling even if she's outside. If you are the bather then you are going to have company, usually perched on your chest - it matters not if her tail gets soaked. Shaving – there Izzy is, waiting on an invitation for her to play in the water. Filling the water containers for the animals – there Izzy is pawing at the stream from the hose. Somewhere during her construction, her hydrophobic gene went missing.

Yesterday I stepped out onto the deck and there was Izzy in the bird bath lying in about ½ inch of water. Granted, it was in the upper 90s and pretty humid. She stayed there a good 30 minutes until the Mockingbird took umbrage and ran her off.

Spring Parade

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Sun, 24 May 2009 13:09:00 +0000

We thought about going off for the weekend, but the weather has been so perfect we decided instead to have a holiday with the critters and the projects. The weather is perfect (and L#we's had a 1/2 price sale on their plants) for yardening and projecting and we can settle in to the Indy 500 race this afternoon. It not a bad way to spend a holiday weekend and the only crowds and traffic we have to fight would be the critter parade through the backyard. We'll probably run up to Austin and take Gryphon to one of the many great dog parks there.

The following photos were all taken yesterday in the early morning light and all within about 30 minutes.

Remember Tiny Tim? Well we finally figured out that it's a Tiny Tina! She seems to be doing fairly well considering her damaged front leg. It's still hard to watch her walk, but she's hanging with the herd and seems to be OK with a good coat.

Simon waiting on his daily bread

Redford's got eyelashes (and budding tusk)! Perhaps his blond ambition? ;)

The wonders of the mud spa!

Mirror Mirror
"Hi! My name's Buck and this is my other brother Buck."

...at least the pig left us somethin'...

"Hi!"

"All right Mr. De Mille, I'm ready for my close-up,"

HAVE A HAPPY AND SAFE
MEMORIAL DAY!

MINE!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Mon, 18 May 2009 05:57:00 +0000

It was a weekend of errant errands, projects large and small and thunderstorms and I sit here amazed at all the things on the list that didn’t get done. I think back to Thursday night, to the list … er … lists, to the hope and promise that all would be done in 3 days. No problem and I still might have some time to read, play with Gryphon, visit the sphere and lay a few courses on the rock wall. HA! HA and HA! Murphy sat firmly on his throne built upon our misery, presiding over misbegotten plans and grinned! Grinned I tell you! The list of uncrossed items conspicuously outweighs the crossed off items. Amazing!

I suppose that many of us believe the weekends, especially the long ones, to be the nostrum for the grind of the week – I know that is what is in my head as the weekend approaches. Perhaps that was true in my youth when my batteries had and endless capacity to recharge. Now I wonder if it is that my expectations have expanded or my capacity to execute has diminished – perhaps it is both.

In all reality, Vulpine Manor has benefited from our labors (whether or not the list was completed) and already the list for next weekend has begun. There will be plenty of time for lounging as the weather comes into its summer scorch. Meanwhile the extra rain we are getting and the high humidity has caused exponential growth and cutting must happen lest we fall behind the jungle swell. Some of you might remember the insurmountable vegetation that we faced when we first moved here. I’m proud to say that we are far better off now and NEVER want to go back there again.

I’m yawning so I should claim my pillow. Speaking of claims, I’ll leave you with these:

MINE! ALL MINE!!!

MINE! (nectar wars)

These guys are fast! Even at a shutter speed of 1/400 they blur!

MINE! (Gryphon's fridge)
(too bad he's not happy here, huh?)

Mrs. Pot’s Magical, Mystical Tickle Emporium

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Sun, 10 May 2009 13:59:00 +0000

Well, today we went over to ol’ Mrs. Pot’s pit to get hissed; though the pit was a field and the little hissers were … well …not “little” hissers at all!

“Mrs. Pot, is this the pit?” said me.

“Why yes it is, a pit to hiss,” said she.

“The boy, Mrs. Pot …,” said me.

“His name?” said she.

“Gryphon,” said me.

“Has he been hissed in the pit before?” said she.

“No hissing around,” said me.

“Sixty dollars,” said she.

“Uggg,” said me.

“Gryphon’s collar,” said she.

“I’m wearing THAT?!” said he.

“’twill but tickle,” said she.

“In the pit?” said me.

“In the pit and be hissed,” said she.

“The hissers?” said me

“Are three,” said she.

“The grass, the box and the bush,” said she.

“What that?” said he.

“A hisser,” said me.

“WHAT”S THAT?!?!?” said he.

“A tickle,” said she.

“DAMN!” said he.

“It worked,” said she.

“To the bush!” said she.

“Ok,” said he.

“Rattle hissssss,” said Three.

“NO WAY!” said he.

“Bravo!” said she.

“He passed?” said me.

“Grade A,” said she.

“I’m outtie,” said he.

“In the truck,” said me.

“A COOKIE!” said he.

So we left ol’ Mrs. Pot’s pit and her hissers three and went home to where we don’t have a Mrs. Pot or a pit to hiss in. Perhaps we never will. Should a hisser stop to hiss, without a pit, Gryphon now knows to “let it be, let it be, if there is a hisser, let it be!” (sorry John)

Note: snake awareness training is serious business in parts of the country (like ours) where hissers are about. The old adage of “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” sure applies here. Although I was loathe taking him to this training, it was certainly not as bad as I anticipated. I will have to admit that it was weird wandering around in the grass field where there was 1 Diamondback Rattler loose (rattling, agressive and sometimes within just a few feet), 1 rattler underneath a dead cedar bough (and rattling) and a Copperhead in a box. The vipers were all missing the venom glands but were fully functioning and healthy otherwise. Frankly I think the exposure in the viper emporium was as helpful to the bipeds as the canines – recognizing potential danger by sight and sound and also by observing the viper’s behavior. There were 20 dogs, more people, 3 vipers, lots of stories (both good and bad) that support the activity and I came away with a companion that KNOWS not to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Cirque Gryphon

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Tue, 05 May 2009 04:14:00 +0000

Gryphon’s first days here have been phenomenal. He’s taken to the house, cats, critters and us. It has been an instant bond from the day I arrived at the breeder’s and he took to “B” immediately when he and I arrived home. One cat has become his “bud” and one is a bit hesitant, but doesn’t flee when he approaches. Izzy, on the other hand, cannot understand WHY we would let such a behemoth in HER house! She gets along with all the other critters, including Redford the pig, so I’m hoping that she’ll come around eventually. They will all come in to eat and sometimes sleep, but only Sox will grace us with her presence if he is in the house. It’s pretty entertaining watching him do the whole “play pose” with the cats and he’s been snagged more than once when he’s been a little over-exuberant. Puppies! He may be a year old, but he’s still very much a puppy!

He’s had no issues being in his kennel during the day (I suspect that he sleeps most of the day). He was a bit restless at night and we realized that he was used to having a crate to retreat into and has been fine at night since that purchase. Using a crate has been a huge change from how things were with Taylor. Taylor never liked the very idea of a crate, much less being in one, and was a model house dog, rousing only when the alarm went off. We have to keep reminding ourselves that Gryphon is used to having a dozen kennel mates and some of his restlessness is due to their absence. The second night we were on the road we stopped in Roswell, NM at the Comfort Inn. I was just about to crash and Gryphon uttered the first peep of the trip so far. He was whining from the bathroom and when I went to investigate I found him in front of the closet mirror talking/whining to the doggie-in-the-mirror. This had a potentially disastrous outcome so in a moment of divine inspiration I stripped the spread from the bed and draped it over the ironing board and set the whole affair in front of the mirror. The doggie-in-the-mirror went away and Gryphon settled down - good thing, because I was dead tired and we still had 10 hours driving to reach home.

The trip was like most road trips that you push through alone. It was mostly a drive on auto-pilot; although, this time I managed to remember to pick up several book CDs from the library before setting out. The books made the long miles easier, especially at night.

The straightest and fastest shot from home to Boise takes up a lot of off-freeway driving – more appealing to the eye, but leaves a lot to be desired as far as cell service – blue cell hell – and phone tag was rampant - I mostly just gave up the effort. It was disappointing as I’d hoped to catch up on a lot of calls that never seem to get made.

The most stressful part of the trip was the very first night. Dark had fallen hard while I was still on I-10 and I was already wary of the stretch north from Ft. Stockton to the New Mexico border. I had not seen another vehicle in a couple of hours. This lonely road is a lot of sage, oil wells and … well … nothing actually. There was, however, a proliferation of jack rabbits, horned owls, coyotes and deer. Proliferation is not an adequate word; abundant might be a better choice, but still doesn’t do it justice. The scene played out like a peripheral sidebar featuring a Steven King novel while I was listening to Sarah Dunant’s In the Company of the Courtesan – a very weird experience at best, with carnage both in the book and on the road. After a half dozen owls had flown up in front of the Explorer over the course of 10 miles I began to feel a little spooked by all the nocturnal hijinks and pulled off in the next picnic area to sleep till dawn – probably another 40 miles and many more owls and critters.

I got out to unkink and shake off the unsettling miles, looked up and was awestruck. What struck me in this very western part of Texas nothingness were the lack of light pollution and the amazing display of celestial light. There were no vehicles, no street lamps, no houses; just a lot of great, open dark punctuated only by the occasional and distant lamp from an oil rig. I lay back on the hood of the truck and stared off into the cosmos until sleep threatened to overtake me and I retreated to my pillow in the back. I went to sleep thinking there is just nothing like the crystalline sky of the desert.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful, save the suicidal flood of bugs upon the windshield north of Salt Lake City. Best the awfulness happen there since driving through SLC is a trial all unto itself – it’s the one unavoidable traffic cesspool along I-15 from Spanish Fork to Tremonton that has the same effect on the psyche as fingernails on a chalk board. Sure, there are ways around it if one wants to add a day to the trip.

I spent a good bit of the time feeling like I was in a huge extended neighborhood, since I’ve run this route so often. I really don’t have to think where to turn, where the motels are, where the gas exits are as well as the restaurants. I’m sure truckers must feel this way. No thinking - pas de la pensée. There were long distances of some pretty spectacular scenery and often I would find myself absorbed in what seemed like an endless non sequitur - flashes of grandeur that had zero relation to the book I was listening to – comic and confusing sometimes. On the return I had the added comedy of Gryphon – my own canine Cirque du Soleil.

Gryphon’s home!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 04:40:00 +0000

…and he’s worth every bit of the 3400 miles, 4 travel days and 58 hours of driving. Gryphon traveled great! He seems happy, although the cats don’t - more on that and the trip in another post. Here are his 1st pics at his new casa and a view of and from his daytime air conditioned palace. NO! He's not spoiled ;)~

Gryphon's door!

Kennel is to the right in the above pic and I've partitioned off a third of the shop space for him

Gryphon's view

His name is …………………

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 23:48:00 +0000

... GRYPHON!!!!!!! Heart (and body) of a lion, wings of and eagle and is the protector. Here’s his photo at 8 weeks!

We are feverishly busy getting ready for his arrival – in between thunderstorms that seem to be threatening our sanity. Since the acreage here isn’t completely fenced yet (a work in progress that has only been completed around the pasture) we needed to provide a safe place for Gryphon to be during the day. So, we are building a huge kennel that abuts the shop and there’ll be a dog door to the interior that is air conditioned. The shop has been puppy-proofed with latches on all the cabinets and coverings on all the shelves – basically removing access to things that look chewable. Since he’s 11 months that is still an issue and it’s going to take a while to figure out his little canine interest. When we are home he’ll be with us, but during the day while we are working he’ll have his puppy palace – out of sight from the road.

Here is the site that I’m clearing for the kennel and the dog door will be through the wall of the shop beneath the window. What a lot of rock to dig out and what you are seeing is only a third of what’s been removed already! Sod will go down tomorrow and the kennel will go up tomorrow afternoon.

Meanwhile it is round after round of vet visits for the cats for their annuals, servicing the Explorer for the trip, getting the house ready for the new Buffledog! We are remembering about the infamous “tail sweep”, fur bunnies everywhere and simply space for him to move easily about. He probably won’t be quite as large as Taylor was; Taylor was 135+, but I don’t think Gryphon will be much more than 110-115.

So, I’ve stocked up on book tapes for the 3400 mile trip and I’m really looking forward to being away from the office for a few days. Fortunately it looks like great weather for the 5 or 6 days that I’m going to be on the road.

Soon there will be our own photos of the boy!

NOW…………..

You also get to meet Felix, our now frequent ring tailed cat. The shot is a little out of focus since the auto-focus was ineffective in the dark and I just had to guess at the distance – ‘twas a few feet short, but you get the idea. These little guys are just off-the-chart cute.

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!

Waiting

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 05:57:00 +0000

bellman banter

"May I be of service, sir?"
"No, I'm waiting."
"On what, sir?"
"On who."
"Who, sir?"
"I'm not sure."
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"I'm not."

Seamus

It’s been two years today. I’ve been waiting.

I frankly have had little heart to be here. Perhaps it’s that I’ve been waiting.

I sit silently on the porch in the early morning hours; my hands warm around the coffee mug and watch our menagerie venture out into the wee first light. I often talk to the Buffledog in these lone moments – these were our times in the pre-dawn and we only missed our walks when one or the other of us was down with injury or sickness. These walks were magical, mysterious, sometimes guarded, sometimes filled with discovery and always full of greetings for our fellow early risers. I sometimes hear my neighbor walk his old Lab, but cannot see them on the road. I sit silently on the porch and wait.

The chores here are endless and often solitary. More than once I’ve turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of my friend and companion. I feel his presence. I wish I could feel his fur. Still I wait.

On what, sir?

On who.

April Fool’s Day. The phone rings and a familiar name pops up on the screen. I smile and answer, stepping outside to the building front and sit on the steps. We catch up as old friends do after a long absence. Then I listen for 10 minutes.

“Talk it over” she says, “and call me later this evening.” I already knew the answer.

His AKC name is Giorgio.

We haven’t named him yet – soon - he's all Buffledog though!!!

He’s 11 months old.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s a goofball … purrrrrrrrrfect!

He’s Taylor’s nephew.

I’m driving to Idaho on April 21st to pick him up.

I’m waiting, but I’m smiling.

Here’s his pic from 2 weeks ago.

Me and you and Pepé Le Pew

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 06:54:00 +0000

I was reading John Irving’s The Hotel New Hampshire in the bath and laughing out loud at State ‘o Maine’s acquisition of the taste ‘o canine – well, laughing as best I could under the circumstances.

Consider the tub, or a water trough that tries to pass as a tub by virtue of proximity in the little room known as the bathroom – a builder issue bit of fiberglass nonsense that generally has one prone with feet, tibias, fibias, femurs and an organization of other anatomical parts in an amalgam known as legs exposed as one seeks immersion of torso, an immersion that is never fully realized. The trough has a back that is near vertical and places one’s chin an inch from the top of the sternum while wheezing through a windpipe that feels kinked like a cranky, cold hose – all for the search of a bit ‘o warmth from the waters. This also leaves an expanse of flesh approximately 10” wide and 18” long from chin to just below the navel that needs the occasional hand generated wave in order to feel connected to the activity known as bath … little solace for the legs though.

I was laughing until the tears flowed and I could no longer read the words, I grabbed the wine glass from its tenuous perch on the soap dish handle and closed my eyes, visualizing the busted motorcycle being towed/escorted out of Falmouth with State ‘o Maine in the side car.

“Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkk.”

I knew the “umpff” was coming and kept my eyes closed to keep the surprise alive as 12 pounds of Izzy lands on the micro acreage that was residing above the waterline.

“Umpff!”

“Purrrrrrrrrrrrr………..”

There were 10 little needles intent on performing catupunture and drawing the milk of Vlad Ţepeş, portending a clipping in Izzy’s very near future. Remember, this is a 12 pound fur-ball that is trying to worm her way into some semblance of comfort that is involving my chest residing above the water line – all the while purring with abandon and feeling like she’d finally found “the spot” that her adopted sisters cannot, in any way, intrude. So much for the peaceful bath!

I started thinking, as she finally settled in (tail to the left or tail to the right of my face – wet tail? – don’t care – ohhh! Let’s slip a paw into the water as well! No matter that I’ll shake it all over the pages of the book!), of the remarkable day/evening it had been critter wise.

The first was wondering what the fresh turned earth was out by the green house. I finished my early morning ministrations regarding the animal’s gratuitous feed and very necessary water. Grabbing a cup of (very necessary) coffee I went to investigate the oddness by the green house. “Aliens” was the first thought and “crop circles” was the immediate next. I stood gaping at a trench 6 inches deep and 15 feet long. There was another similar disturbance past the big cactus, though not as long. It finally dawned on me that it was probably Redford. I’d recently read that a sounder could uproot a field or a yard in a night if they were finding some tasty morsel just below the surface – grubs, tubers or whatever. If I could only direct his efforts I wishfully thought. Who knew there was that much dirt in this property that seems to just grow rocks!

Second was a flock of nearly 20 goldfinches that’d finally discovered the much neglected finch feeder. This was the first time for gold finches in this yard. They were still in their winter plumage. I hope to see them all in their summer garb. There is also a pair of gold fronted woodpeckers and a pair of ladder-backs that have found our place amenable as well.

Third was an appearance by Pepé Le Pew. Like Redford, he’s not exactly a welcome guest; although this skunk is a regular enough visitor to have earned a name. Pepé was foraging around the back deck and Zoë was on the deck watching with, much to my horror, great curiosity – that cat curiosity that could land her in BIG, stinky trouble. Meanwhile the vulpine herd was milling about and looking expectantly for their dinner, Rocky was being a naughty raccoon and shaking seed from the bird feeder and Tiny Tim was hobbling around the little piles of corn that I’d just put out.

I waited until Pepé was out if sight before I opened the door to toss the bread to the fox. I stepped out onto the deck and realized too late that the stripped stink reservoir was just behind the rose bush to the right of the door. I froze in mid-step and in my paralysis I could only think that I would not want to see the underside of Pepé’s tail. Fortunately he ambled off, seemingly unconcerned with my presence. Even Tiny Tim seemed to accept my presence and offerings to the now squabbling vulpines.

Since all the fox don’t show up at the same time the yeasty Frisbee toss happens several times over the course of an evening. It was closing time at the Vulpine Café and I threw out a few extra pieces for the malingerers. I noticed an eye shine that was a little different in the understory – redder than the normal gold of the fox and green of the cats and raccoons. This was something new; although the eye shine was somewhat familiar it belonged to something I’d not seen before. I went back in and stood by the window hoping that this newcomer would come out. It did finally appear and at first I thought it was the tiniest fox I’d ever seen – it was not time for kits yet! It was moving with a hopping, sepentine motion that reminded me of a mink or a ferret. I wanted a better view and reluctantly turned on the flashlight, hoping I wouldn’t scare it off. It gathered up a piece of bread and when it turned I saw the stripped plume of a tail and I knew then that I was watching a ring tailed cat. “B” had just gone to bed when I shouted for her to come see! It came back for another piece just as she came in and she too was witness to our new critter. It seems very shy, but didn’t bolt under the torch light.

I’d seen the red/gold eye shine before, but thought it was just some trick of the light on the fox eyes. I’ve heard mention of the ring tails being in the area, but most folks have never seen one. I’m feeling truly blessed that it has graced us with its presence. Follow this link to see this cuter-than cute fellow!

All in all, it was a very remarkable critter day.

Izzy finally decided that she was wet enough and sauntered off to another room, probably to terrorize one of her unsuspecting sisters. I sighed and tried to sink even farther into the fiberglass.

Cooper & Redford

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 03:11:00 +0000

We have 2 new residents at Casa Vulpini and, as is the custom here, they have received their names (whether they want them or not) by virtue of their multiple appearances.

The first is Cooper, a Cooper's Hawk (I know, not very original, but we seem to think it fits) that has a nest high in one of the taller oaks and has become a regular feature in the yard - much to the dismay and detriment of the birds that feed here as well ... they are, after all, its preferred food. We've watched our little daredevil live up to its reputation as it flies perilously fast through the fairly dense woods here. I was reading that in a study of Cooper's Hawks, they found that nearly 1/4 of the ones examined had healed fractures in their chest - typically their wishbones. Dangerous game, this eating stuff!

I caught Cooper during his/her ablutions one Saturday morning. Cooper and I watched each other for a while before I decided to risk slowly dragging the camera out of its bag and changing lenses. Perhaps the raptor was waiting on the rapture because it seem to care less about my very obvious presence. These are but a few of the shots spanning a 15 - 20 minute period.

I'm quite sure we will have words if Cooper decides to snatch dinner from under our noses, but perhaps the raptor will keep it on the sly and wow us with its aerial stunts instead.

Next on Kitsuni Acres is Redford. He appeared as a complete shock early one morning and has now shed the light on the recent questions of, "...what are these deer rooting for?" He's big enough (we think somewhere around 150-200 pounds, although looking at him tonight he seems bigger than that) that he should have tusks already if he's a wild boar; so perhaps he's an escaped domestic. Either way, we aren't really keen on having Redford as a guest beneath the bird feeder. He's sharing the space with both the deer and the fox routinely so there seems to be some peaceful accord ... so far. We now suspect he's been around a while and that would explain the few odd diggings in the yard. Redford does have a sweet tooth for the bird seed. He is very shy and very fleet footed. Ah! The pleasures of rural life! Sigh...............

On Books

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 05:49:00 +0000

Have you ever read something that truly surprised you – something so far off your radar that you actually thought about it long after you read it? I had just such an occasion reading Wings of Madness recently. It was an intriguing biographical and historical story surrounding something that we are all more than familiar with … flight – specifically, the beginning of flight! The biographical subject rubbed shoulders with many notables with whom we are so familiar: Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, Samuel Pierpont Langley, Gustave Eiffel, Theodore Roosevelt as well as the Cartiers, the Rothschilds and Princess Isabelle. Yet this is a man who was unknown to me, absent from the histories I have read and studied. He was a Brazilian national who spent most of his life in Paris and was on the very public forefront of man’s venture into the realm of birds at the same time as Orville and Wilbur Wright, who, in stark contrast, were keeping their aeronautical developments quite secret. His name is Alberto Santos-Dumont.

Santos-Dumont is revered in the country of his birth, Brazil, and many there hold that the homage of first in flight should belong to him. I think it curious that, I feel safe in saying, most of the people in this country have never heard of this shy, eccentric personality.

I kept waiting for the book to become dry and overly factual – a sure antidote for insomnia for me; however, dryness never happened. The book did plod along in a few places and the very nature of the subject would seem to dictate a yawn, but the author, Paul Hoffman, just kept drawing me in further and further. That I’m even writing about it here is a surprise, but I felt it worth sharing.

I am making a conscious effort to read through the embarrassing amount of books that we’ve collected over the years. Granted two thirds of the books are how-to books and such, but it’s the volumes of fiction and non-fiction that I am trying to claim. Books just seem to collect on our shelves like dust and are often abandoned after acquisition; overwhelming in their weight and noticed only upon moving. Ironically, the re-claiming began during a week long bed rest in a Vicodin haze after pulling my back out moving boxes of said books. It has been interesting and enlightening to go to a shelf and pick a half a dozen books and just read them through, not thinking about "what's next". I’m finding while reading I’m remembering why I chose a book to begin with, be it subject, author or both. Although there have been some exceptions to the moratorium on “new” books over the last 13 months, in the main it has been a worthy endeavor to visit our own library instead of another worm’s shelves. Equally satisfying is keeping a list of what I have read, therefore eliminating the dependence on a disgustingly shallow short-term memory pool that is evaporating by the day.

Happy reading!

Flip

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 03:48:00 +0000

There’s a new pea in our pod. Grandchild #5 and this time it was a girl! I’m still amazed after raising 3 girls that we only had grandsons. I figure this girl is either going to be very spoiled or very tough – perhaps both!

It was pretty much a dream delivery, except she apparently got stuck for a bit and it broke her right collar bone. So her little arm is all trussed up in a mini-sling. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already got one up on her brothers and cousins – guess there’ll be a time for bragging rights, huh?

She arrived with a full head of blond hair and has a brother/cousin approval rating of 100%. Her oldest brother met her for the 1^st time in the hospital and after examining the bar coded ID band on her leg he turns to his mom and said, “Mommy, have you paid for this baby yet?” (great fits of laughter erupted among the adults in the room). With the most serious look on his face he pumped his right arm with a flat, backhand for emphasis and continued, “Mommy, you HAVE to pay for this baby!” After the ruckus died down a bit he observed the changing of the diaper and further added to the family we’ll just save this for later archive with a, “Mommy, why is her willy so little?” May the Goddess help her!

So … Flip … a nickname - a grandpa’s. How did this name come to be, you may ask. In a text message from me to the auntie person, I asked for baby news while labor was happening. Auntie replies, “No flipping baby yet!” So there you have it folks, Flip, the new pea in a pod of boys – maybe the Goddess should help them!!!

btw Michelle, funny that we both did a baby pea post - appears we both believe in a certain prerogative ;)

Bittersweet

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 04:37:00 +0000

A few nights ago I lay back in the lounge on the front porch, wrapped tightly against the cold, and listened to the sounds of the creatures of the wood. Warmed by a glass of wine and the enjoyment of being able to spend some time outdoors on a cold winter’s night, the smells were crisp and clean and I caught an overtone of someone’s fireplace smoke. The night air was still and there was no other sound; no planes, no traffic, no gunfire and no insects – blissfully quiet. I watched the stars gather overhead, offering but scant light to the landscape and little-to-none beneath the canopy. There was movement beneath the Catalpa tree and sounds of drinking from the birdbath. The birdbath lay in such shadow that I was having a difficult time discerning which of the wood folk was there; perhaps a fox, but the sounds were sloppier than their petite, polite drinking. Then there was a familiar scrape/click sound that told me it was Tiny Tim before I saw the little deer cross the drive to browse the leavings under the bird feeder in the front garden. Scrape/click … Tiny Tim was by himself again and once again I felt sad for the fawn – sad for his aloneness and sad for his struggle. I also felt glad that he had appeared once again. I was barely breathing and stayed stock still, hoping that he would ignore my presence on the porch and continue his browse.

Tiny Tim and his mother showed up one Saturday morning a little over a month ago. They could have been any number of fairly nondescript doe/fawn pairs that have graced our feed, but this morning they stood out in a very disheartening and grotesque way – both were limping terribly. I grabbed the binoculars and discovered that they both had a problem with their left front leg. The doe was missing the lower part of her leg, just below the knee and Tiny Tim looked like his leg was broken. Though stunned, I managed to get the shot above. I called the wildlife rescue group and they were very sympathetic and very pragmatic about the realities of intervention. They were most emphatic that the deer, like dogs and cats, learn quickly and adapt to just the use of three legs. They went on to say that tranquilizing and movement usually created such trauma that the deer usually expired. It was hard to hear, but I felt better for making the call. It’s not ours to know what happened to this pair of ruminants; it could have been a catastrophic stumble following a startle, perhaps dogs or coyotes or an intersecting vector incident with a vehicle. On that Saturday the doe looked pretty scrawny, but over the next couple of weeks she was filling in the spaces between her ribs and overall Tiny Tim looked healthy except for his ruined leg. Much to the delight of the other ruminants we increased the ration of corn and feed so that Tiny Tim and mom would be well provisioned. It was always bittersweet to see them appear in the following weeks.

I sat listening to Tiny Tim munch on the fallen bird seed, pushing his snout beneath the landscape cloth that had a seam that passed beneath the feeder and collected pockets of seed. My eyes had adjusted to the scant light of the night and I watched with amazement at his capacity to support himself with his one good leg. I worried that he would spook if he noticed my presence; however, he did not. I cannot imagine any deer not noticing a human presence a mere ten feet away. Perhaps this night it didn’t matter.

My thoughts drifted away to my dad who is recovering from a fall and broken hip that resulted in a replacement surgery a few weeks ago. I’ve listened to him verbalize his struggles trying to stand and sit following surgery and I began to weave a symbiotic pattern around my observation of Tiny Tim. It was woven mostly of threads spun from the will to survive and the fortitude it takes to do so. When I walked into dad’s hospital room he was napping and the first thing I noticed was the sign above his bed that read “BLIND & HOH”. The blind part registered but the “HOH” took a few minutes before I realized that it meant hard of hearing. Almost immediately I wished that it said “92 YEARS OLD” as well. What a lot to deal with, but he seems to have a good attitude when he’s not being goofy from the pain meds and such. I thought about Tiny Tim and actually marveled at nature’s mechanism (whatever it may be) for dealing with pain and infirmity. Dad’s in a sub-acute rehab facility after his release from the hospital. Tiny Tim is browsing for food and water. Dad’s range is 4 feet from the bed to the chair. Tiny Tim’s range is far beyond our vision.

Again, in the darkness, I hear scrape/click, scrape/click as Tiny Tim, dragging his left hoof and catching himself with his right, moves off to parts unknown and other morsels. We haven’t seen his mom in a couple of weeks. It’s probably a safe bet that she didn’t make it. Thankfully he’s old enough to know where and how to browse for food. My thought returns to dad, wondering if there aren’t volunteer’s who will read to him since he falls asleep during a book-on-tape. Thankfully he still knows his way around the dinner plate.

ISS ISS ICC I

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 07:27:00 +0000

(photo courtesy of spaceweather.com)

I watched the owner of the company turn and leave my office, head bent in despair (though he’d never admit to it) and shuffled down the hallway with a slight limp. I looked at my desk of organized chaos and stared at my latest scribbling. The market was down another 400 points and that was all he came to say. Frankly, I’m just numb to the caprices of the market and knew that I would hear more of the gory details when “B” got home, given her job with an investment firm. Earlier the owner had stepped in and said that our November sales were better than last year. The irony of these 2 announcements was not lost, but my sense of humor has taken a sabbatical. My many-faceted reverie was shattered by my phone buzzing a maniacal tattoo on the desk. It was “B”.

“Hey you!”

“Hey yourself!”

“Market sucks, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re in distraction mode here.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, we’ve got the space station site up and we’re supposed to get a flyover this evening…ummm…6:20.”

Two techs appeared at the door and I held up a finger for them to hang on.

“Got the info up? What’s the AZ?”

“Ummmm…10 degrees SW.”

“Sweet! Best view on the property.”

“We haven’t seen it yet have we?”

“Nope! Tried, but nope.”

“Gotta go. Mopey clients.”

“Meet you at 6:15 in the south forty with Pinot and glasses.”

“HA! Later. Find the binoculars.”

I hung up thinking that maybe this day was salvageable after all.

We popped the cork at 6:05 to the last of the sunset and toasted the lucky bastards who were on board the ISS (International Space Station), fully prepared to wave them on their journey. There were a couple of deer browsing in the pasture and we were joined by a few of our fox: Simon, Rowdy and L’il Bit were on the pasture side and Samantha was sitting on a rock near the well garden – perhaps they thought food was involved. All three cats were taking turns menacing each other, but generally hanging close and weaving their blankets of felinius obscura in between our legs.

I looked at the time on the cell phone and it was 6:16. It was time and we trained our eyes toward 10 degrees above the SW horizon. There it was, an almost imperceptible tiny dot, picking up speed and brightness as it rose into the twilight. We were both awestruck. I was unprepared for the speed, the brightness and the punctuality. The sheer magnitude of the effort and engineering to put this celestial body into orbit struck us both at the same time. We waved and wished them safe passage.

We both remember watching ECHO 1A and its successor, ECHO 2 cross the night sky of our youth. Both were essentially big metallic balloons, 30 and 40 meters respectively. The first was placed into orbit on August 12, 1960 and we spent many a night on blankets on the front lawn watching its outworld traverse across the night sky. NASA and the space program then was the stuff of dreams and stories and the summer lawn watches were always impromptu neighborhood gatherings. Living under the ever present fear of the “A” Bomb it was a wonderful to view such unfathomable technological advancement as existed in the space program in a different, far more benign light.

Walking back up the drive I was pleased to feel something “awesome and magnificent” in my sphere, pleased it graced our skies and pleased that we saw it.

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 05:38:00 +0000

YAY!!!!!!!!!

&

WHEW!!!!

OH DEER!

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 04:55:00 +0000

PLUS

EQUALS

So, here "B" was just minding her own beeswax, listening to NPR's Morning Edition, 2/3s way to work and suddenly, her field of vision was reduced to a tawny fur and then the obscurity of windshield destructiva, two thumps, a scrabble, a scrape and a sparkling rain of shards. She never lost control despite that it happened at 60 MPH and the witness said the deer ran off into the field beside the fire station. She was uninjured, for which I'm eternally thankful, although I suspect her blood pressure was bumping the upper limit. She and the Civic limped the last few miles into work; a fact with which I'm still amazed. We're still trying to figure out which deer organization to sue. Meanwhile we both wished the deer well, but I have my doubts.

We see them all the time in those wee hours of the morning and the early evening - the worst times. Sometimes they are just totally unpredictable. They always make me nervous when I know they are about. Many years back I had a friend who was killed after hitting one and it came through the windshield and they all dead centered a tree. I had one put me down a 30 foot embankment into Lake Chilhowee in Tennessee a few years back when it jump out in the road on a blind, right hand, sweeping curve. We are both hyper-vigilant during those daylight/dusk hours, but it can happen in the blink of an eye - a sprite's eye at that!

Helluva way to start a Monday!

Yes, I still put out the deer feed tonight. Buggers! Harrumph! ;)

Election Day is tomorrow! If you haven't voted, GO NOW! I'll keep the deer on a leash!

‘member Rowdy???

noreply@blogger.com (Seamus) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 07:24:00 +0000

Well, while we’ve been traveling down memory lane, life here at Vulpine Manor has continued right along. We are down to 5 fox after this summer’s population explosion of 9 – 3 adults and 2 kits left. Like all teens, the kits have insatiable appetites and they still steal food from their parents. I wonder how long Rowdy and his sister Li’l Bit will be with us. Li’l Bit is still very camera shy, but Rowdy is as bold as ever. The photos here are of him eating the leavings from the bird feeder and he kept getting peppered by the birds eating above. He knows where the seed comes from and climbed the tree to investigate the source, but lacking the agility of Rocky the raccoon he abandoned his quest of higher knowledge and has now acquiesced to the leavings of the feathered contingent.

Remember me telling you how Sebastian would fuss/bark at me some times if he was hungry and I wasn’t paying attention? Well, L’il Bit has taken up the vocalization banner and has begun to bark if the bread doesn’t come fast enough! The bark sounds a bit like a more guttural version of a tropical bird – almost a squawk. Along those same lines, there has been a new fox, an interloper, who has been literally sniffing around, probably sniffing for a vixen (lookout L’il Bit!), and it was interesting watching the exchange between Rowdy and the interloper. Rowdy’s tail was blown out and his back was arched like a cat as he would pass by the interloper. The interloper was giving a fox “hiss” as a response and I wished I’d had a “listening device”, however my fox might have deemed me a “Bushite” listening in on their private convos.

It has been interesting to note how much bread these little guys can eat in a sitting. You have to remember that these little beasties weigh somewhere between 11 and 15 pounds (although I think Simon must weigh more than 20 pounds) and yet the five of them can down a loaf of bread. I wonder where they can put it all and yet we still see them hunting in the understory and out in the field. I do worry a little about whether or not the kits will want to leave and whether or not the parents will allow them to continue to eat at the Seamus Café.

I’m now working on the next segments of the In Search of Lewis Lost series. It’ll probably be a week before I post another ISoLL entry.

Work is crazy busy, contrary to the general state of the economy, but it’s mostly about trying to position ourselves for the coming good times – and it will come, despite the current doom and gloom.

I have not been very political in this blog, but now I want to say that Obama is the first presidential candidate I have actually been excited about since John Kennedy. As a disaffected Catholic I remember seeing the ceiling break in 1960 (yes I’m that old!) as a Catholic was elected despite all the negativity about how the country was going to be run from the Vatican – bwahahahaha! In my community I/we were the minority and viewed with a great amount of suspicion. We were taunted, despised, vilified, derided, persecuted and ostracized. I hear the ads today and it really makes me angry that Obama has been so vilified by the RNC and the McCain campaign. I think it’s irresponsible and beneath the party and creating more division in this country that so needs unity to regain its standing in the world. I was so proud to listen to the 30 minute ad this evening and also the Obama/Clinton campaign speech this evening. I am cautiously optimistic about the outcome on November the 4^th, but like the latest ad from the Obama campaign that shows the biker who wrecked at the finish line, we can’t be too cocky yet and there is still work to do. If you are in the Obama camp, please continue to spread the word, make the call and convey your enthusiasm.

In the last post I spoke about the motel savant who remembered who I was after several years. Just this past weekend I was at an early polling venue casting my early vote and one of the poll workers, who is also the local Democratic Party chairman, remembered me after one conversation we had on the phone several months ago. Now it’s true that we had a 30 minute convo and got down to some real policy issues as well as campaign strategy, but I was amazed that he remembered considering the number of folks that he must have talked to since then. I know it’s not me per se, but it gives me pause and renews respect for humankind that folks do pay attention to others and that our singular voice counts … and I think that is so cool! I was also proud to be standing in line for over an hour Saturday to vote. I live in a community that has maybe 35,000 folks and the diversity in the line of both age and ethnicity made me proud to be a part of the American process. “B” and I both agreed that it was less important who these folks were voting for, but that they were voting at all! Selfishly I hope that Obama/Biden wins and perhaps we can reclaim a top world position that I believed we had until 8 years ago.

More selfishly I can honestly admit to having more economic health during Democratic administrations than Republican; however, the election this time is more about who is going to lead us out of this stupidity of being dependent on foreign oil and labor. The last company I was with in Seattle swore that they would never ship jobs overseas … until our CEO and CFO decided that it was in our best interest to do so. My last 12 months there I was writing processes to be translated into Chinese and preparing equipment for shipment to China. When the jobs went overseas we laid off 4/5ths of our work force because of the tax advantage we got to do so. What we received in return was SHIT! Pure, unmitigated shit and product that was un-salable and so far from our customer requirements that we became a laughing stock in the industry. So … we lost 200 workers and our credibility and they are still struggling with it. I am a rabid opponent of shipping our manufacturing jobs overseas. I believe we need to marshal our resources here and keep our workers employed and not bow to the corporate greed and corruption that is so pervasive now. I think it is short sighted and irresponsible to promote outsourcing jobs – FOLKS! – those jobs will never come home!

I watched with both honor and shame tonight. Honor that we finally have a candidate who believes in the American Dream and shame that so many do not see that for the color of his skin. As a son of the 50s and 60s in Atlanta, Georgia I watched, in horror, Lester Maddox wield his ax handles from the steps of his Pickrick Cafeteria, the Kennedy assassinations, the church bombings in Birmingham, the assassination of Martin Luther King and the controversy regarding Rosa Parks in 1955 in Montgomery. I was only 5 when Rosa Parks refused to leave her seat on the bus, but she was always a hero to me, despite the derision of her action I heard in my family.

Is this presidential race about race? I my mind it is. I believe that if Obama was a Smith or Simpson or Weld or any other WASPish name you could conjure and held to the same platform that Obama holds to that this election would already be a landslide and over. I must tell you that my dad, at age 92, cannot see beyond the color of Obama’s skin and is therefore a McCain supporter. I suppose I can forgive him (maybe) due to his age and upbringing in southern America (difficult I can assure you), but I am ashamed that he cannot see past the color of Obama’s skin – especially since he claims to and mouths support for many of the same things that Obama stands for in his campaign. Frankly, because I was also a part of that same south and privy to the same ministrations of those folks (black) who surrounded us as I grew up. I was witness to a kinder, more generous and certainly more soulful way of living and being in the world than was ever exemplified by my white contemporaries and for the most part my family.

Yes, I am excited about this election. I’m excited because I hope that my candidate of choice has the stones and the fortitude to bring real change to Washington – real change. I’m excited that for once there is someone who seems to have the interest of the country at heart as opposed to his own interest and those of the lobbyist. I have, for a long time, believed that we, as Americans, need to produce the very products that will free us from being dependent on foreign oil. I also believe that we need to stop shipping our manufacturing overseas and creating a negative trade deficit. In my view, we are surrendering our strength and stability for profit and I believe that it is a shame and a travesty. I do believe that there is a place for foreign labor, but not to the exclusion of our national best interest. It is a delicate balance that we have to deal with and justify, but I believe that we have given away too much. Sure, it seems like a prudent choice to ship some of this work overseas, but in the long run we will pay the price, in both jobs and quality of work that we, as Americans, are so proud of and rightly so.

I remember Ben, the sharecropper that worked half of my great uncle’s land, saying that “…if yer gonna do somthin’ you best do it right cause they’s gonna ‘member. Lands chile, what’s the use of workin’ if you gonna do it poor like.” His girlfriend Ruby would nod in agreement. He believed in the product of his labor and I believe in it to this day. We do have a workforce that wants to produce quality product, but that same work force has had their mettle tested by the greed and avarice of employers and brokers looking for more, faster, cheaper.

Are we salvageable as a country? I believe so. If for no other reason as the fact that we need jobs here and not everyone is suited to working in an office or as some service voice on the end of a phone or computer query. It is a tough spot that we find ourselves in: really cheap labor verses quality and control. Is everything we get from overseas crap? No, not at all; however, we must find a way to compete in that labor market. I don’t think that anyone has a perfect solution; however, I do believe that Obama has, at least, a reasonable plan to re-fund the American worker.

Vote with your heart and vote with your mind; but, for the goddess’ sake VOTE!!!!!!