transitions, delights and everything inbetween

They are so observant. They know. They may not always understand the implications, but they sense the direction in which you're heading.They watch, compare, sniff out all that can be sniffed out. And they worry. Dogs in a nutshell. My dog in a nutshell.

The day starts off as it often does now -- with a happy wake-up just before 7. Henry waits until I get dressed, which in the winter isn't exactly a speedy deal. And he is (more or less) patient when I put on his warm jacket. It is 4F (-16C) outside. Could be worse. Indeed, it will get worse. Still, he needs his jacket.

 

I should have put balm on his foot pads, but that would have been weird for him, and he has enough of weird before him today. And he knows it. Even now, on our early morning walk, he is more vocal than he usually is. He looks, considers, pauses.

Sigh... My best ever dog.  

A warm shower feels great. He understands that routine. But things are slightly off for him. For instance, why is there a satchel lying on the floor by the bed? I come out of the shower and note that Henry has chewed up one of the handles. I can't really blame him. It's on the floor. It's an unknown. Maybe it's a toy? For me?

We eat breakfast. 

 

 

I can't read my novel. I'm too distracted by all the steps I have to take to get Henry, my bags, his bags, bags of birthday gifts, laptop, camera, a thermos of hot tea -- into the car by 9. And of course, Henry sees those bags, his favorite toys stuffed into a sack, food, apportioned, in baggies, his blanket, his treats and chewies. 

There, is, however, always time for affection. 

 

 

 

For my brilliant lap dog. 

 

 

 

We drive to Camp K9. He follows me inside. I go over the details of his stay there. There's good news -- someone is picking up their dog unexpectedly earlier. Henry is getting a room upgrade! In an hour, once they clean up the place. In the meantime, the attending person takes Henry's leash. Henry sits down one of his firm sits. No way am I going with her! He hides behind me. I have to lead him to his prison cell. Yes there are other dogs, yes they all have a comfy blanket on the floor. The dogs may hear each other, but they see nothing of interest. I throw treats on the blanket, he munches them, but he is trembling. And I'm crying. My poor sweet dog.

He will be spending time in this Camp's daycare for a good chunk of the day. He'll play with other dogs. He'll like that. But at night and when not with other dogs, he is in a cell. A larger one, with a bed and pictures on the wall and some noise -- a TV maybe? I should have told them that he really likes jazzy Christmas music.

*     *     * 

I drive over to the farmette and pick up Ed for a breakfast date at Paul's Cafe.  Yes, I have to be in Chicago today, but our meet-up there isn't until 4. (I dropped Henry off in the morning because otherwise he would not be eligible for playtime with other dogs.) 

Ed is in a pensive mood. I have no idea what's on his mind. I ask. He tells me -- you, gorgeous, I'm thinking about you. How nice it is here, with you. Not sure that I can trust this account, but I get no more than that.

*     *     *  

The drive to Chicago is uneventful and that's good. I consider not being part of a multi-car pile up to be a splendid outcome. 

Here's the plan for today: Primrose is dancing in the Chicago Ballet's Nutcracker. She is a toy soldier in the party scene (first half) and an angel in the snow scene (second half). There are two performances today -- a matinee, attended by a handful of family members and friends, and an evening show -- attended by me! In between, there is a break and this is when I am to meet up with the whole lot of them.

Since I pull in a few minutes before 4, I find a neighborhood coffee shop -- the Coffee Lab -- to park myself in. Yes, I am in Chicago. 

 

*     *     *

Now comes the time for Primrose to grab a bite to eat. We head out to a nearby Whole Foods where she can have some quick prepared sushi (the girl loves California rolls). Let me assure you, it is a brisk walk. It's freezing outside! These two are utter saints to pause for a photo for me!

 

 

When Primrose returns to the theater to get ready for her next show, I go out to dinner with the remaining members of her family and a good friend of the parents who may as well be family. What else would you call a person who travels all the way from New York to see the little girl dance?

*     *     * 

We eat at Cebu Chicago, described as a modern Filipino restaurant, thankfully within a short walk of the theater. I do not know a whole lot about the food traditions of the Philippines, and I definitely want to find out what I've been missing.

It's great stuff! 

And now the rest of the fam returns home (Juniper's bedtime is fast approaching) and I turn my attention to the Nutcracker. 

 

*     *     * 

Primrose is very musical, so dance comes easily for her. She is, of course, perfectly awesome, and the whole performance is festive and beautiful! I fully expected to not use my camera. However. The announcement before the ballet was to shut off your cellphones and to not take flash photos. Well now!

 (Act I)

 

(Act II)

 

 

I pick up the little dancer afterwards. No flowers for her -- they would not survive this Arctic blast. I owe her a bouquet!

*     *     * 

I take Primrose home, park the car in their neighborhood and Uber over to my hotel -- the Sofitel downtown (what a deal! I can't remember the last time I had a room for $149 per night in the big city!).

I have no idea why, in this large hotel, I always wind up in the same room, or at least one on the same floor with the same view, but I do. Though I get a seasonal mix in there today:

Such a day! Henry, you would have been proud of your human cousin. She danced like a pro! Sleep well, all you canines, and humans who care for them, and for each other.

with so much love... 

it's coming!

What's your impending threat or pleasure? Christmas? The holiday visit with the in-laws? The post-holiday letdown that so many feel? 

Right now, in my immediate future I have three, of varying degrees of intensity. First of all, there is the coming of the ridiculously cold weather tomorrow. I do not consider wind chills of -20 or better yet, -30F (-29 to -34C) to be sane for mid December in southern Wisconsin. Perhaps Santa feels differently about it up there on the North Pole, but we in Madison are 3200 miles (or 5200 km) from the North Pole. Indeed, geographically speaking, we are closer to the Equator (3000 miles or 4800 km to our south), so I feel we should reap some benefits from that. Even in December. 

My second event is a compilation of delights -- after I get over the hurdles and through the barricades. I'm to go to Chicago for a performance and birthday and really, to see everyone there. I did not get to hang out with the younger family over Thanksgiving (weather issues then!) so I am especially keen on this visit. However, there's the weather causing havoc yet again (though no storm is coming, so that's good) and then there is now also Henry. He has to stay home, or at least stay here, in Madison. This will be the first time that I will be leaving him. He came into my life two months ago and I've not traveled nor even gone out for an evening since then. 

I will not admit to how many hours I have spent looking for the perfect pet care situation. I checked out, booked, then cancelled private homes that take dogs for pay. (What if they're mean to him? What oversight do I have over their treatment of my pooch?) Ed had once volunteered to care for Henry in my absence, but it has become obvious to me that he knows very little about dog care and, too, there is the issue of farnhiuse cats. And stuff lying around for Hnery to ingest that he should never ingest. Then, I posted notes on the doggie daycare board. Sometimes the caregivers there take on pet sitting. But none could do it this weekend. Next, I booked him in a luxury and ridiculously expensive doggie lodge, then quickly canceled after reading one or two reviews that absolutely trashed the place. All corporate, no soul. I also considered hiring someone to just stay in my apartment, but this is not easy. Henry has an outdoor schedule that is now being established and it relies on me knowing his needs as they arise. Plus he barks at people in the elevator. This has to be handled with care and apology and a firm but gentle hand. So no, that wont work either.

What's a human to do??

In the end I booked him a place at Camp K9. They call his place a "classic suite" but it's a cell, really! That's all they had available. He is on the wait list for an upgrade, but they assured me that dogs do not fare better or worse if they are in the classic suite or their bigger better... well, cell, though with a window! He'd love a window! Camp K9 is way on the other side of town, but I know it from some 25 years ago, back when I had a dog and was equally troubled about doggie care. They remain wildly popular and more importantly, they are a family run place, and they actually care about the dogs that go there. I have received very many reassuring emails to my panicked inquiries about his level of care. And yet, how can I not worry? Wont Henry Bean feel abandoned? Back in a kennel, as if a shelter is to be his home again, with strangers coming to him instead of... well, me!

All that happens tomorrow. Today, I get ready. 

It's cold again. Very cold. Henry is outgrowing his smallest sweater so I may as well put it to good use. 

Again, we do a brief walk. Is this the new normal in the morning? Perhaps it is, at least in the winter.

Breakfast. I have such fondness for this meal! At the farmhouse, when I travel, and now here, at the Edge. Routines firmly in place! 

Then comes the warmest, cuddliest time of the day. On the couch, with Henry.

He goes to doggie daycare, I do errands. Pick up meds for my non-pneumonia. And pick up a Wisconsin antler for my Henry Bean. He really should not rely on very hard chewies (something about potential damage to the teeth), but I think if he has it while I'm there, he will be okay. He always steals Goose's antler when we go over to visit. For Christmas, he shall have his own.

While at the pet store, I see a shelf of foot balm for dogs. I ask the owner (at least I think he's the owner... he acts owner-ish) if this is at all helpful, especially since I have now rejected dog booties for Henry. I'm told it is mildly helpful. I use it for my dog every time we go out in the winter. But then, I live where our walks are always on concrete sidewalks. Well yeah, where else do you walk your pooch around here? Henry, let's try it. I do hate that your feet are bathed in salt against a hard, frozen slab of concrete.

When I drive from one place to the next, I listen to a station that calls itself "Variety Music." (It's 107.3FM) Sure, I know about playlists and I do subscribe to Apple music, but I like the old fashioned radio too, and especially for holiday music. They pick a good balance between jazzy and playful, without excessive religious messaging or an overabundance of commercials. (So old fashioned is it, that they still announce the station with a jingle, just like in my childhood!) I've gotten to know the two dj's and I am mildly amused at their back and forth. They're not terrible, just a bit silly. Today, one of them went on about the pleasure of receiving holiday cards. He offered this -- emails are nice but you read them and they go to your trash, whereas cards get special space on your fridge. 

I dont quite display cards on my refrigerator, but I keep them in a basket right by my breakfast placemat. And yes, I love them. [Some of you have asked for my new address. I am happy to pass it on to you, but do know that sending anything to the old one will reach me as well, via Ed, albeit with a few days' delay.] I truly love these pieces of paper in an envelope with my name on it. Your pictures, your choice of design -- it's all so beautiful. Yes, it is a fleeting connection, but it is a wonderful one. Perhaps a throw back to the days when not everything was done online. For those who send cards -- to me, to others in your life -- thank you. 

The rest of the morning is spent on tidying the apartment in preparation for my monthly visit of the cleaning team. This has been a real treasure. The dusting, the wiping down of water stains -- it makes such a difference! When I get up off the couch I dont have that sinking feeling that I should clean the shelves, TV, table, whatever. I know that what I wont accomplish in the next four weeks, will be taken care of by these wonderful people. One of the best luxuries I've ever experienced!

I go to a coffee shop while they clean. Of course I do. 

 

And then it's time to pick up Sparrow, Snowdrop, feed them, take them (tired as they are from too many late nights) to their play performance.

I cant say that I miss the drive between school, farmhouse, and home. But today I remembered the upside of that drive. This is when I have the best conversations with the kids. I tell stories from my past that relate to their present. The subject of religion comes up. As does the question of kids: how many do they want? They always have a fixed idea about this, though that idea changes over time! 

In the evening, I pick up Henry. Well, I try to pick him up and take him home. I always take him for a short walk before we get in the car. He usually needs it then. Tonight, we walked over to the big field to the side of the doggie daycare and he picked up a scent. Of a vole? A mouse? A dead animal? When Henry does this, he becomes focused on the task of tracking the scent. Nothing else matters. I cannot call him away from it. Tonight, I realized that we've crossed an important milestone: he is now stronger than I am. (And despite my age, I think I am pretty strong.) I could not pull him away. Eventually I tricked him into switching direction, but it should not take that to get him pay attention. I have been sloppy with our training. We do it daily, sure, but not enough, in part because at home, he is always so good at all the commands that repeating them over and over makes little sense. I need to work with him in other spaces, where there are distractions. And that's not so easy in the dead of winter. I glance over the class schedule for dog training. Maybe a few more classes would make sense? Something to consider. 

Henry comes home, we eat, we snuggle. I try not to think about his next two nights away from home. Maybe he'll make friends? Maybe they'll grow to love him there? One can hope...

(keeping his paw on his new snowman squeaky toy)

 

with so much love... 

Henry Bean

Affectionate nicknames are, I think, wonderful. When you use them, they immediately add a layer of love to the expression, so that you turn to your addressee with feelings of warmth and good will, which not only makes for a pleasurable exchange, but, too, it releases your oxytocin, endorphins and dopamine, so that you, in turn, are in love with the day, the world, with life in general. At least that's the way I see it.

Not all names lend themselves to nicknames though. I've used some for my daughters of course, but they don't really work well for everyday discourse. Similarly, some of the grandkids have easy names to twist into a sweet variation (Sparrow, Sandpiper by definition, and Juniper in their real incarnations, are especially easy to manipulate in this way), but some are tougher to work with. As is, for example, Ed. When I don't call him the usual sweetheart or my love or dearest, I revert to Ed, but it sounds so harsh in its austerity. He loves its simplicity and plainness. I think it sounds too cold. [As an addendum, I'll include Snowdrop's comment on all this from when I discussed with the big two nicknames in our long-ish car ride this afternoon. She reminded me that "Ed" is already a nickname and that I sometimes add the Polish "ka" to her name as an affectionate nickname -- because in Poland, warm feelings would be conveyed by adding those two letters to a girl's name. For example, I'd be Ninka. Almost no one called me that, ever, except for my grandmother who went a step further and called me Ninoczka. Snowdrop also reminded me that we add an "s" to Primrose's name to give her a sweet nickname, in the same way that Snowdrop sometimes calls me "gogs" for the same reason. A nickname for a nickname!] 

And now enter Henry. I did not give him that name -- the last shelter chose it to release him from the previous shelter's name (Herbert). He had each name for just a few days, and it took him a while to recognize that he was indeed Henry. I like that name for him. I think he is regal and the name fits that image. He stands like a dog waiting for his turn in the Westminster circle of greats. Here's a photo from this morning as we set out for a walk. Best in Show material!

Still, I love this poor soul so much that my tongue wants to make something of Henry. Snowdrop and I have been known to sweet talk him using names like Hen or, worse, Henny. For a person who has taken care of chickens for all these year, I think Henny does not do him justice. 

Then a friend of mine used the name Henry Bean in an email this morning. It is so perfect for him! It keeps his regal posture in place, but it reminds us that he is just a sweet little guy with a big heart and a bit of fear still lurking in it after months of hardship. Henry Bean, I hope you know that you're the best! (And thank you for letting me stay in bed until 7 this morning.)

 

 

Again, for a dog who loves winter and needs lots of exercise, Henry is not keen on going for a longer walk in the early morning. That's fine. It's very cold today. And he's likely hungry. And I want my shower and milky coffee.

We are getting another Arctic blast this weekend. You'd think that this would solidly put winter on track for us here in Wisconsin, but no: right around Christmas there's talk of rain. And indeed, I think after this weekend, I can put away the doggie sweaters for a while. Sad but true.

I have quite a lot on my plate for the next few days, but two things head the list of imperatives for this morning. First, my time with Henry on the couch, so that I can tell him how much I love him.

Then, I do want to finish my second puzzle, which turns out to be harder than the previous one. That Christmas tree and all those snowy branches! I skip looking at the picture. May as well concentrate on shapes of the pieces. There, done!

The rest of the morning has me doing everything possible to avoid what I should be doing -- wrapping presents. To wrap early, before December 24th is the ultimate retirement privilege. And yet, here I am, washing the couch cover, tending to my potted plants, cutting up extra pieces of fruit for the kids -- anything and everything but taking out those rolls and trying to fit them around ridiculously large boxes.

Lunch break: 

Grandchild pickup time.

It's one of those days where I take one home first, then pick up the other, then take both to a fast food place for a meal on their laps in the car while I drive them to their Shaw performance place. They are supposed to be there by 4. We barely make it by 4:30.

After the rushed drop off, I exhale. And start coughing again. This blasted cough has been with me for two weeks now and it is driving me nuts. Too, I have to be in an audience this weekend. What will those sitting near me think if I hack away during the show? I've been putting off going to the clinic because I'm tired of going to the clinic. Besides, I can't be dying from pneumonia if I enjoyed a vigorous hour of cross country skiing yesterday. So I ignored it all until tonight. I look at my watch. If I drive just at speeds that wont quite get me a ticket, I can get to the clinic by 4:45. What are the chances that I can be seen quickly? Have you ever gone to Urgent Care (which is a walk-in place for all those things for which you could never get a timely appointment) in the thick of the winter season? It's a day's project. And yet, here I am at 4:45, knowing very well that the doggie daycare place closes at 6 and if Henry isn't out of there by then, they'll charge me something like $50 for each additional minute. 

And yet, the clinic waiting room seems... almost empty. Pure luck. Someone calls my name right away. I explain that I absolutely cannot stay beyond 5:30-ish. They look at me indulgently. You will need an x-ray. There will be a wait for that. I explain about doggie daycare. 

They're magic words. Suddenly, the nurse person hurries with the vitals. The physician assistant does a quick check, deems me acceptable (just mild this and a slight presence of that) and tells me to pack up my things and someone will take me to xray soon. If you dont have pneumonia, take these meds for a bronchitis.  If you do have pneumonia, we will notify you by email and then you'll take the other meds. 

I'm done with my visit at exactly 5:30. (No pneumonia. Just a nasty post-viral bronchitis.) By 5:45, I am picking up an overjoyed Henry.

People really do go the extra mile to help when they hear that your dog needs you. Tell them you have a job to get to, or a flight to catch and they'll shrug. Everyone's in a hurry. So it goes. Tell them that your poor rescue dog is the last one waiting for his human to pick him up from day care and you are out the door by 5:30. 

 We have a quiet evening on the couch, he and I. His head is on the pillow and he is so totally relaxed that I just cant help smiling. My beloved Henry Bean. Loud out on the streets, so quiet at home.

with so much love... 

 

sweater Wednesday

Henry's replacement sweaters came in the mail (I had send back the too small ones). You might ask -- does he really need more than one sweater? Of course not. But, keeping to one is more work for me -- it has to be dried, cleaned and it has to serve cold and very very cold temperatures. Today, I tried on the one that is intended for the very very cold weather, even though we're just in the cold realm right now. 

Getting him into this one was more trouble because he thought the texture was quite chewable. Henry is still a bit of a chewer. Knob yesterday. Today I caught him eyeing the wooden stool leg. I also noticed that the arm rests in Sparrow's car seat have teeth marks. What happens in the back seat stays in the back seat. I had thrown a cover there and I leave everything else to fate. Or Henry's good judgment. Which, I'm seeing, is still in the "I'm a playful pup" category. 

It was still snowing lightly -- a brittle icy snow -- when he and I stepped outside.

Since it was early, I thought I'd fit in a real walk -- something more interesting than just around the block. But Henry had other ideas. Once he was done with his necessary business, he decided to let loose his inner crazies. And I let him. If snow and a walk with his human still bring him so much pleasure, well then who am I to rein him in? 

Breakfast. Calm restored.

 

 

 

And then comes this absolutely sublime period of affection, with the last bits of milky coffee, soft jazzy music in the background, some reading on my part, and my arm around the greatest dog in the world!

 

 

And I don't just mean size-wise!

Okay, doggie daycare time. I have a date to go skiing with Ed today. As usual, by the time I get to the farmhouse and settle into a comfy chair, by the time he makes me a cup of tea and turns up the heat a little, I do not want to go anywhere, especially outside, in the wind, on icy terrain. 

 (Dance is peering over at Ed's phone that is ringing and presumably flashing something)

But as usual, Ed talks me into it, and as always, I am so glad! We have a fantastic run. Well, perhaps I would not call it a run. But the glide is vigorous and more importantly -- deeply satisfying.

 

 

Ed suggested a coffee shop afterwards. I happily agreed and we settled on Paul's (well, we call it Paul's because he has had it for such a long time now). We asked if Paul was there. Paul? Oh no. He doesn't own it anymore. It's under new ownership. 

Wow, so many memories can be traced to our visits here. When I was still teaching, we'd very often meet up at Paul's for a post-work moment of quiet time together. Paul  knew Snowdrop, whom I brought with me on days when she was still a toddler. 

The new owner came out to say hi. Nice guy. Same good food. And lovely cafe atmosphere. We'll surely come back, but I doubt that we'll stop calling it Paul's. (The place is actually called Oasis.)

In the evening I pick up both Henry and as a favor to my daughter -- Goose. My, are those dogs strong!

I stop over at her place for just a few minutes, but it is getting late and I know that I wont have time to get us home and fed and ready for dog training class. Well boys, should we practice some commands now?

 

 

 

Back at the Edge, I have nothing but sweet words for my pooch. He is, by the way, Pet of the Month! His picture is in all the elevators.

My good boy is famous! (Probably as much for his loud bark greeting as for the photo in the elevator.)

 

with so much love...

 

wintry mix Tuesday

Without a question, I prefer crispy cold and sunny, to slightly warmer -- just below freezing -- and cloudy, with the threat of a wintry mix down the road. But of course no one asks me how to set the temperature outside. I have to learn to love it all. Including today's morning, which is indeed just below freezing and cloudy, and with a threat of a wintry mix later in the day.

Well, at least I do not have to bother with putting Henry into a sweater. He's warm enough (according to me) on his own.

Though I still think that first blast of cold morning air gives him pause: so... it's winter for good now? A fresh dusting of snow, salt, all of it? 

On doggie daycare days, I tend to skip a long walk in the early morning. Up and down the block a handful of times seems to suffice. He's not clamoring to stay out longer before breakfast.

Ah yes, breakfast. Delightful.

Well, delightful until I notice that Henry is not in his usual spot on the couch. True, he likes to check out the bedroom windows occasionally, but he is a creature of habit, so a prolonged absence at this moment has me get up to investigate. Ah, there you are: in the kid room/guest room, munching away at the wooden dresser knob. Oh, Henry!

I try some pet stain remover on the remains of the knob, thinking that the smell might repel further chewing. It doesn't. I notice this as I see him trotting up with another bit of knob in his mouth. He and I have a conversation about it (I subscribe to the policy of "No Yelling" at your dog, since, as with children, it is totally ineffective and demoralizing), but just to make sure, I purchase Jambos Bitter Apple Spray. Guaranteed to keep your furniture safe from pets! I'll let you know how (in)effective that is!

That's my good boy, Henry! Back on the couch with me!

I made the mistake on starting in on another 500 puzzle. Importantly, it's not too hard and it doesn't take up that much space. Snowdrop and I are competing for table room for our various holiday setups.  Once I start the puzzle, I dont especially want to stop. What is it with these puzzles -- how can something so mindlessly boring be so addictive? Or is it really mindless? Or boring? It's like a memory game -- you're significant;y faster if you remember where you saw that piece with the bit of yellow window and a tree bark at the tip. So maybe not so stupifying after all? 

I get halfway through it and then I stop and turn my attention to the bird feeding station on the balcony. Not a single bird stopped by. So, should I return the yet to be installed smart feeder? No! What if the birds will come only after they see a comfy platform on which to perch? Why not put up the feeder and see if that perhaps will be noticed? Ah, another dumb human putting up one of those little square boxes that they find so cute and that we perch on to humor them...

This is not your ordinary bird feeder. It has a small solar panel and it feeds not only birds, but also my bird app, which I can then use to identify birds with. Of course, 1. I have no birds and 2. We have no sunshine today. But I have the time to set it all up. (It takes forever.) Will this attract them? Maybe? Eventually? Ever?

I pick up just Snowdrop today. It's a luxuriously normal day. No special place she needs to be, no meal that must be eaten on her lap, in the car. 

My goal tonight is to pick up Henry and get her, then him home, before the wintry mix ices our roads. 

(Henry is super excited to hear me at pickup time; and yes, he is very tall when he stands on his hind paws.)

 

 

For the first time in weeks, there will be stuff coming down while the temps waffle between freezing and a degree or so above. And after a few hours of this, we'll plunge into temps significant;y below freezing and they will stay there. Forever, if you think like a dog and don't know about Gallileo or weather.com forecasts. I know what that means: whatever melts will freeze and create an ice layer for all to slip and crash on. My options are to embrace it or become a grumbling old person. I'm already old and would like very much to stay away from grumbling.

A side note on the subject of aging and grumbling: having taken care of my mother's needs and dealt with her grumblings and general unhappiness in the last half dozen years of her life, I greatly appreciated an article in the NYTimes about aging parents. Read it for free here. We sometimes think that older people can and should control their inner rage. (My mother had a lot of inner rage.) But the fact is, not only are they capable of losing joy in those last years,  but moreover, they do not know that the world continues as before, but they are no longer keeping up with it in any way. I suppose this could happen to me, and I tell Ed that this well could happen to him, but he does not believe me. He's one of those people who is convinced that he can have control over his aging process. I reassure him that I will be there to assist, even if he becomes intolerable, but I doubt that he sees that as a viable path. It will be interesting to see which one of us loses their marbles first! Perhaps you'll be able to tell from reading an Ocean post. 

with so much love...

fun facts Monday

It is 7F/-14C when Henry and I step outside for our morning walk. This is not interesting weather for Henry. This is paws-are-cold weather. 

(did you know that my building is at the intersection of JQH Drive and Holiday Avenue? How did that latter name get attached to a street? And how did the street sign get bent? Questions without answers.)

 

 

It's one thing to run like crazy off leash. You forget about your paws then. And anyway, they barely touch the ground. Trotting slowly alongside your human is different. And not worth the pain. Do your stuff, go back inside -- is Henry's thinking.

*     *     *

I hear on the radio that the least liked Christmas song of them all is Paul McCartney's Wonderful Christmastime. It's repetitive, the lyrics are dumb. This I cannot understand. There are plenty of songs that fit that description. Mommy kissing Santa Clause is dreadful by definition. I personally find Christmas Shoes deliberately manipulative and a little sick, and Bruce Springsteen's Santa Clause is Coming to Town jingles and rocks your nerves solidly after the fifth repetition of that one line. And still, I put on the Christmas music station on the car radio, listening to a mixture of the pleasant and annoying and somehow I don't mind any of it. Well, if my two or three loathsome ones come on, I switch stations.

*     *     *

Breakfast. My pup would like me to give up on the dental chews. He has that "anything but dental chews" look on him this morning. I'll think about it, Henry.

Me, I love the same old granola with fruit, yogurt and honey. And of course the sublime milky coffee...

 

*     *     * 

We, the shoppers out there are easily fooled. If you sell packs of cookies at Clasen's German Bakery, rather than raising the price, you just take away a cookie. Next year you up the tab, and the year after you virtually double it because that's the way things work in America (and elsewhere too, I'm sure, but I speak for the country I live in). Labor costs, ingredient costs, tariffs. So what are you, the baker, going to do this year? Here's an idea: take those gigantic gingerbread man cookies, make them half the size, put them in a box with a pretty ribbon and charge a whopping $29 for each. I know bakers rarely make a fortune, but I do think $29 for a cookie is a bit high.  

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I sit on the couch with Henry, his paw is up, he wants a gentle rub. 

 

 

I'm reading the article in the NYTimes about dogs in Japan. This one.  Apparently people in that country are having fewer children and more dogs. Traditions that were once followed with the progression of a child's age (the "3 5 7" rituals) are now followed with you dog. You dress the pooch in a kimono and take him or her to a shrine for a special blessing at those key ages. The photo in the story is very cute, but I have to think that if I put Henry in a kimono it would just be funny!

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The jigsaw puzzle advent calendar which I have been doing dutifully for seven days now (50 pieces of a new puzzle each day) has suddenly become too easy, because I have figured out that the cut is the same for each picture, so that the weird long piece is always on the lower right side. Even without looking at the picture, it's suddenly all very obvious. Should I keep on doing them just because they're there? Or should I admit that this was a really dumb purchase and give up on it today, so I can go back to doing the wonderful bigger more challenging puzzles I have stashed for the winter season?

I'll let you guess which route I take.

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We've had a month of winter weather without it being winter yet. Maybe we should just skip the season and go straight to a snowy spring?

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I sent out the last of my holiday cards today. One of them has to travel to an address at a distance of three blocks. It will take a whole week to get there because mechanization means that it will first have to go to Milwaukee before it returns to Middleton. Weird but true.

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I finished the fifth and last book in the Thursday Murder Club series. I have a stack of more serious stuff to read, but this being December, I'm staying with the lighter novels. I picked up a holiday one and the writing and story line were so bland (despite great reviews) that I gave up and went back instead to Osman (who wrote the Thursday Murder Club). He's promised a 6th, but in the meantime, he has another duo battling crime  -- an aging widower and his daughter-in-law. It's fine, but I miss being in the world of goofy old people.

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Reluctantly, I began wrapping presents today. The worst part? Getting to the big gifts that consume way too much paper.  (I put that off for another day.)  But I have several close runners-up: trying to coordinate paper so that each person has her/his own design. Ugh. And of course the odd shaped present that defies any wrapping strategy that could result in something aesthetically presentable.

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I pick up a tired (and therefore fragile) Sparrow and a tired (and hungry) Snowdrop. These late performance nights (they dont get home until after ten and there still are the evening routines to get through) are doing them no favor. All the grownups involved in their care can't wait for this insanity to be over. (Next Sunday evening is their last show. Can't come soon enough.)

Sparrow and I pause for a few minutes at his house before picking up his sister. And we come just as his mom received the DNA test results for their Goose. Their dog shares some breed genes with Henry (so in my opinion they could be very distant cousins!), but his dominant breed genes are that of an American Staffordshire Terrier and Labrador Retriever. Henry has zero retriever in him! My Rottie Dobbie Husky Pyrennean befuddles curious types when I tell them he is not in anyway a lab. Goose, on the other hand, looks and acts and is in part like a lab and an AST. Of course, we tend to peg them some, and then we exaggerate what we think we're seeing. Still, it's been great fun tracing these dogs' ancestries.

(Bundling up)

 

(Still in her mom's coat)

 

Snowdrop twists my arm and so we get Culvers fries for a snack. I mean, how can you argue with a girl who now throws around words such as dude, chill, and yo bro into the conversation on a regular basis.  

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At the Edge, they catch up with their advent calendars.  Whereas Henry's and mine were less than perfect, the two kids do love theirs. Which is perhaps more important than whether a dog appreciates opening little doors to treats one day at a time.

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Picking up your dog, whether from doggie daycare, or a boarding kennel is perhaps one of the most joyous experiences you can have as a pet person. Their love just throws itself at you. Reheating three day old brussel sprouts for supper for yourself is slightly less exhilarating. The day is always a balance of the sublime and the mundane.

 

 

with so much love...