a Henry win!

I could not watch the Westminster Dog Show last night because I haven't any of the streaming services that offered it. But this morning, I clicked on a news page to see who was, in the end, Best in Show. Here, you can watch it in this clip. Or, if that doesn't work, you can read the NYTimes article, gifted for you here. It's worth your time, especially if you're looking for a cheery start to your day! And I say this even though I'm not especially a great fan of dog shows. Your pooch wins not on personality, behavior, or even appearance per se. The dog is judged by the breed standard: how well s/he reaches our idea of the ideal. This is such a human construct imposed on the animal world! And the people who breed and place these dogs in competition put the animals through the mill. Constant shows, excessive grooming and then more breeding. So, many would argue that all this is not good, but in my view it's not the worst thing we do to our pets (when done properly) and honestly, watching these dogs show off their awesomeness is kind of fun.

ABC News rightly called last night an emotional win. Penny, the dog who took the big prize, is a Doberman pinscher.  The last time a Dobbie won was in 1989 and would you believe it, that time the handler was Andy Linton -- the same guy that gave us the winning dog last night.

Why spend so much time on this in my post (apart from the fact that I'm rather dog focused these days)? Well, as you know, Henry is a mix. We used to call that being a mutt, but we've upped it a little: mix sounds much nicer. But his most dominant strain is that of a Doberman pinscher. I saw it even before I got the DNA analysis back. Not only does he look exactly like a Dobbie (one with floppy ears, the way nature intended) but he acts like a Dobbie. The words describing Penny -- "she eats anything and everything" and "she's very chill...but she can get pretty pumped up for a bad guy or a squirrel" -- they describe Henry to a T. The big difference? Penny is all Dobbie of course, and she has lead a life of privilege with her owners in Toronto. Henry comes from the streets of a big Texas city. But when I look at Penny, executing her perfect winning pose, I think I'm looking at Henry. I call this, then, a win for my splendid dog!

(no perfect pose today; I'm happy just to go out, then quickly inside)

It's -1F/-18C out there.  I do think that these bitter cold readings will let up a bit in the weeks to come. And again, I dont really mind them when it's a sunny day. And today we'll have plenty of sunshine.

Breakfast.

 

Rest.

Doggie daycare. And oh, do I need it today! My car has to have its brakes replaced. I have boxes to take over to the farmhouse (for a temporary hold). And deliver a check to the utilities people of my soon to be home town. And so on. 

My car dealer gives me a loaner for a couple of days. It's like sticking a box of candy in the face of a sugar deprived child. My car, once lovingly called Blue Moon, though pretty new at 5 years, looks like something you'd fine in junk lot. Today, when I tried to tidy up the back seat, I found old mildewed apple slices that Sparrow once claimed he had eaten. They were stuck in the door pocket. The cover I use to protect the seat from dog debris only covers up years of debris accumulated from transporting many kids many times. The front seat is equally grotesque. I wont point fingers, but really, why does food never reach the mouths of babes, wedging itself instead in crevices that are ill suited for it? And the dust! If I try to wipe it, I merely smear it into a sticky mess. And dont get me started on the salt damage to the mats! So, from this I step into a 2026 version of my car. With all the new technology of course. The service desk person tells me with some degree of sympathy -- I know a great place where you can have your car detailed. I have kids too, you know. Why does my 4 year old daughter come out of the car with food smears on her butt? Why was there milk left in her cup when she handed it to me upside down? 

Fine, I'll have it detailed. Just as soon as we're done with the snow and salt. So, maybe in May?

As I drive the shiny red new one to the farmette, I decide to swing my Sally's House. I can't go inside until next week, but I want to see how the sun hits it. Just to get a sense of the amount of light coming in. I see that there is a van outside from a drywall company. I know they're supposed to patch up some settling cracks. I dare go up and ring the bell.

One of the workers answers. His English isn't terrific, but I try to communicate that I'll be moving in and would like to take a peek inside. The trusting fellow lets me in.

My first impression? It looks way smaller than the stupid wide angle photos make it out to be. This is great news! the house is plenty big, too big in fact. I don't need that to be its main defining characteristic. I speculate out loud where to put the TV. Over there -- he points to space high on the wall, above the mantle. No, this will never happen. To make a TV that prominent is just so wrong for me. And then he asks -- dogs? As in -- do I have dogs. Has the word spread?!  Big? -- he continues. My oh my, Henry's reputation is preceding him! I show him a picture of my pooch. Ay! -- he says, which of course could mean oh my God, or that's nice, or something else altogether. I do not mention Sadey. 

 

Today is a no kid-pickup-day, so I return to moving details at home. Removing nails from the wall, for example. And I wonder -- if I am to live at Sally's House for 5.5 months, which is half a month more than I lived at the Edge, should I even bother hanging art work? I think the answer is obvious. 

 

I pick up Henry a little earlier today. I'm proud of my boy because this morning, after barking at an elevator person, he came into the elevator and sat down obediently as if nothing had happened. Yes, Henry has inner calm. He just needs time. I'm sure of it.

with so much love...