"Go East, Young Dogs"

As we go about our mundane life in Northwest Oregon, a group of truculent vagabond types are traveling eastward in their modern day covered wagons-- mostly RVs-- to Montana from dog show to dog show. They even have their own blog: Northwest Paws Across America in which they have been chronicling their travels and adventures since setting out in the early morning of Sunday, June 17th. Comprised mostly of Cairn terriers with a couple of German Shepherd Dogs and Border Terriers, they're following the Montana dog show circuit to compete in conformation and obedience.

Do check out their blog. There's a new entry every day (unlike in this blog) and it seems that something of interest is always going on, whereas the most exciting thing that has occurred so far here is that while Maggie, Geordie, and I were walking throughout our lovely suburban neighborhood, a loose Weimaraner followed us and pooped on an unsuspecting neighbor's lawn. Oh-- and Geordie was sniffing the around the property of one house as though he were a connoisseur of fine wine. This leads me to believe that the intact Schipperke bitch that lives in the corresponding house is probably in season. Lovely.

Cheerio,
Jill, Mag, and Geord

Deconstructing Geordie

At least it's a relatively quiet morning. It could easily be worse. It was very bad last night and the world needed to be spared the nocturnal "serenades" of Geordie.

Our backyard is a veritable stockade. Chain link rises from the ground five feet high and cherry-tone logs bound with wire, poured concrete, and a few cinder blocks reinforce its base. A padlock secures the gate and there's no wiggle-room for even a puppy or a small dog suffering from anorexia nervosa to slip through. Green plastic slats-- in a color that disappears into arbor vitae-- weave in and out of the chain link to provide both a visual barrier and to soften the prison-like appearance of the heavy-gauge steel fence wire. A dog door leads from the deck-- or what may eventually become one if we ever finish building it-- into the family room, and Maggie and Geordie come and go (speaking of Michelangelo?) at will. That is-- unless I have to insert the barrier and stop the flow of canine traffic.

I fear that some creatures have taken residence on the street side of the fence. Lush and varied shrubs occupy the place between the start of the over-tall arbor vitae and the large Douglas fir at the southwest corner of our next door neighbor's yard.

The rare squirrel will taunt Maggie and Geordie, but mostly they stay clear. Birds avoid the yard, even though a bird feeder filled with seed has hung from an eave of the house for a few years. Perhaps they have determined that it's not a feeder but really a trap that the Cairn terriers have rigged themselves. I really should take it down, but inertia prevails.

Meanwhile, the backyard is more of a shambles than usual. Neither Maggie nor Geordie have tried to escape. This leads us to believe that they enjoy the security of their turf. Although its terrain consists of patches of grass, parts of it resemble the cratered surface of the moon.

A few season ago, moles migrated into the neighborhood en masse. Nevertheless, our yard remained remarkably free of them, largely due to the efforts of Geordie, who dug holes at various places in the middle of the yard and then commenced barking furiously into them. His "paw-crafted earthen megaphones" had, in fact, provided effective sonic rodent control. Whereas mole holes riddled our neighbors' yards, ours had mere potholes.

Last time I checked, there were no fewer than three green slats lying on the ground near where Geordie was last worrying his quarry by digging and singing his own version of the Carole King classic, "I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet." (In the key of Asia Minor, I surmise.)

Cairn terriers are persistent problem-solvers, and Geordie will not quit until he feels that his work is done.

Geord ("giving voyce")

Mag (So sweet!)

and their loyal servant, Jill

We've Moved! A Blog in a Blog (A Day In a Virtual Moving Van)

We've decided to move from the Blog Suburbs to the Blog CITY. I'll probably be doing "mirror posts" on both, but this will be our new home. It's just that we wanted to be on a planet rather than on an asteroid. (Pluto???)

This post is the only one on this whole thing that is dated correctly. June 16, 2007. A date I'm not likely to forget too soon.

I wasted most of the day copying and pasting the whole danged thing from the RARELY VIEWED Holy Terrier Dog at the obscure and niche-y my-dog-blog. We're using the same title:

Holy Terrier Dog

We're also purveyor of all things terrier at

Holy Terrier Dog Designs.

With love from,
Maggie, Geordie, and Jill (who's taken on the screen moniker of magadogz for the purpose of this particular blog)

The Importance of Being Maggie, An Open Birthday Letter (May 16,2007)

May 16, 2007

My Precious MagaDog,

What do I write about a spirit that wiped the tears away after twenty-five years and allowed me to open my heart again to unconditional love? You have done this for me and so much more. And you've touched the lives of others-- and only in the most lovely and magical ways imaginable. You have taught me so much. Your independence and poise has made me tell people-- and it's true-- that you are my role model. You watch, listen, and demonstrate a gift for restraint-- this is the same gift that has made you a phenomenal therapy dog-- casting lines of communication to people who have needed you, children with autism and others who simply need cheering up. You were my lifeline those years ago when I was buried deep in anguish and depression. You knew exactly what to do then-- and you still do now-- just as you did last night, on your birthday eve. And that was just so perfect; you knew exactly what you were doing.

Happy Birthday. Now you are 13. I pray that you stay with us for many years more, but this plane of existence is so finite, too finite. You are my darling forever and I am grateful for every minute with you.

I love you forever,
Jill

Maggie on May 16th, 2007. A "teenager."

Noah, at age nine, broached the subject about bringing a dog into the family.

"I think I would like a dog. I could tell it my problems and feel better." Granted that Noah may have been ISO a live-in therapist was a bit of a surprise to me, but his request catalyzed something that I had sublimated for so many years, ever since more than a quarter of a century had passed. That was when my sixteen-year-old Welsh terrer, a dog that I literally grew up with, no longer roamed the house, the neighborhood-- or wherever-- chasing cars, terrorizing mail carriers, and making babies. When periodically he disappeared for three or four days, my parents were casual about it:

"Oh, he's probably found a girlfriend." (A comment that would horrify today's dog owner.)

That was suburbia in the 1950s and 1960's and my father named the black-and-tan mass of fur he "surprised" (read "shocked") my mother busy with two young daughters, aged one and two-- for the poor Irish farmer in the "Yip" Harburg and Burton Lane musical, Finian's Rainbow. Finian.

Nevertheless, for all Finny's faults and lack of training, I adored him. So his passing, at age 16 in 1971 threw a crushing blow and the idea of getting another dog never crossed my mind again. . .

. . . well at least not until 1993, when Noah first brought up the idea of adding a family member of the canine persuasion to the family.

Noah and Maggie in 1994. Both have grown a lot.

We attended the Annual Portland Kennel Club's annual bench show, a veritable "shopping mall" of the breeds.

Seven months later, along came Maggie. . . truly an angel-- the firstborn daughter, born Monday, May 16, 1994 at 6:00 a.m. of Ch. Joywood's Jamie of Goosedown (aka Junior) and Am. Can Ch. Joywood's Peggy Sue's litter of three girls and one boy in Milwaukie, Oregon at Barb and Larry McNamee's Joywood Kennels. Noah named her "Maggie Simpson." I thank goodness that The Simpsons had more of an effect on him than Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Mag-nifi-Cairn Terrier

Maggie celebrates her 13th birthday with élan!
Brava to Joywood's Maggie Simpson, CDX, CGC.
Loved by everyone-- especially by me.

What she is-- "She's all that!"

1) A great actress. Gracious, too. None of this All-About-Eve stuff, even when typecast as Toto in a production of The Wizard of Oz opposite a Dorothy who was jealous of her applause.
2) A woman who knows a good opportunity when she sees one.
3) Former and current calendar girl.
4) The most intuitive girl I know.
5) A snob-- with justification. (See #4 below.)

And what she's not:

1) A willing Earthdog.
2) A follower. Maggie has always marched to her own drummmer. When placed in a situation with other dogs, she seems to ask, "What am I doing in this ex-pen with these dogs?" She is not your garden variety Cairn terrier-- but would definitely assume family excavation duties should Geordie ever relinquish them, making her "first runner up" because she is not. . .
3) Pushy. At least not with Geordie.
4) A phony. They actually failed her when she went for Therapy Dog recertification. (Her first certifcation went nearly flawlessly but the venue had changed to what resembled an assembly line.) A woman-- aspartame-sweet--played the part of a handicapped person, complete with walker.

"Hi, there. What's your name?" she asked Maggie with an obvious air of condescension. Maggie looked her straight in the face and then turned her head slightly. She'd seen enough.

The woman's face changed. "I'm afraid I'm going to fail her. She seems to be stressed by these kinds of situations." Hell, yes! Maggie is totally put off by insincere posers and poor actors.

Sadly, it was their loss. This failure was precisely why she worked so beautifully with autistic children; they don't know how to be anyone other than who they are and Maggie knows this.

Unfortunately, these days any therapy work we do is surreptitious and done on the sly.

This will have to suffice for now. No doubt Maggie will be the star and subject of future entries, although Geordie has a tendency to usurp the spotlight more often than not. But it's Maggie's day. He was included in today's glorious walk on the path to the Canemah Cemetery.

Ruminant-From-A-Former-Life Maggie Grazes on Birthday Greens.Tis the Season!

The gate to the actual graveyard was open (and not vandalized either!) and Maggie and Geordie flew in pursuit of squirrels and other creatures. And even better, my older son, Alan and his girlfriend, Meg-- in for the Mother's Day weekend from Ann Arbor-- were along for the walk.

With eternal affection and adoration-- this is for you, Maggie. Not nearly good enough, but I think you'll get the idea. . .
Jill and Geordie
(Geordie has acquiesced to allowing me to add his name.)

Japanese ChinTerlude. . . Little Dog, Big World (May 10, 2007)

A couple of weeks ago, I survived a most grueling airline flight that began in Portland at 10:55 p.m. PDT and landed in New York-- Kennedy Airport, which is technically Queens-- at around 6:45 a.m. EST.

Upon arrival, I'm barely functional. As an infrequent flyer, I have the crazy notion that I might actually sleep on this flight because it's a red-eye, non-stop flight. I prove myself wrong! The overstuffed flight immediately dashes my hopes of fetal-positioning myself across all three seats and "manufacturing" some consistent z's. I try, with little success, to read and wish-- for the first time ever perhaps-- that I were an actual dwarf-- one of the Little People (in a ) Big World-- half of Oregon's own minor celebrity-family, the Roloffs. Pint-sized patriarch Matt travels a lot for business alone or with his son, Zach, to the Little People of America's conferences. And sometimes The Learning Channel sends them to Hawaii to make for a more interesting program sequence.

For them, airline travel-- at least for the three little-people family members-- must be a breeze if you don't count the inevitable struggle with those overhead compartments, which also challenge me, at a dash shorter than 5'3". At least, the average-sized 17-year-old twin, Jeremy can help with that, as he's already pretty tall.

Thrift leads me to take one of those $17 airport shuttles from JFK to my friend Anne Dee's apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where she lives with her Japanese Chin, whose formal name is Chindale's Palm Pilot, aka "Palmer." I've seen his picture, and I'm eager to meet him. Anne Dee Goldin, an old schoolmate from sixth grade through high school graduation, did not become my friend until fairly recently-- not until after our thirtieth high school reunion in Hewlett, Long Island, New York nearly six years ago.

I had already created Palmer's first Café Press shop named Boutique Palm D'Or creating designs from a few emailed images, but we'd yet to meet fur-to-flesh. . .

Japanese Chin "Palm Pilot" Throw Pillow

The trip from JFK to West End Avenue takes about three hours-- that's about half the time it took to fly from coast to coast.

One passenger, a flight attendant named Pat, a veteran shuttle-rider complains about how long it's taking, and after the first hour or so warns the driver that if he doesn't stop at a gas station or hotel soon, she's going to pee all over herself and inundate the bus. Finally the driver stops at some garage, at the precise tipping point when Pat's bladder threatens to explode, barely averting a major flood.

When we finally reach midtown Manhattan, I call Anne Dee to warn her of my arrival. It's raining Oregon-style in the city and although I'm less than a couple of miles from my final destination, it could easily be another half-hour. I also explain that I'm kind of glazed over and spaced out from my travels.

We're zipping through town at the breakneck speed of at about 2 MPH. Eight other passengers get off at various stops. That leaves just Pat and me: I'm the next stop; hers is last, Columbus Circle.

Finally, I'm out of this infernal vehicle whose driver seems to know New York like the back of some stranger's hand. I drag myself to the building's portal and ask the doorman to announce my arrival. I wheel my generic black suitcase to the elevator and up we go. The door parts and there he is-- Palmer, the most adorable petit ambassador!

"Deluxe" Darling Japanese Chin Tile Box

He is followed by Anne Dee. This perfect miniature dog is my instant friend and I cannot believe how well trained he is-- sort of a five-pound silken-haired male Perle Mesta, to boot! Unlike my two Cairn terriers, Maggie and Geordie, he seems to have little desire to adopt "a new best friend" who's leaving and to accompany. Impossibly well-behaved and every bit the companion dog he's meant to be, he seems to ask permission for everything and doesn't take over the same way a terrier might. He's almost exactly as Anne Dee describes him, "a stuffed animal that poops and pees."

Palmer's coloring matches any decor, and the duplex apartment is impeccable, stylish, and comfortable. He blends right in, a perfect stark contrast of black and white among the creams, browns, and earthtones.

Anne Dee and Palmer Goldin

(I will only mention briefly how I ended up with the wrong suitcase: Mine had been grabbed by a woman from Israel who was visiting a man several blocks from Palmer and Anne Dee's place. Fortunately, while I was on the phone begging the shuttle company to track the darn thing down-- the same black suitcase
as everyone else's-- Anne Dee solved the mystery by calling a number on little pink sheet of paper found within the poser suitcase.)

"It's raining, " the man complains when Anne Dee suggests he come and get it. Major chutzpah. After all, it was his guest who had taken my bag leaving me with only one other to choose from.  Retrieval required a cab ride on my part because I was more desperate for my stuff than the woman's host was willing to get wet. Was she made of brown sugar; would she melt?

I spend the rest of the morning, afternoon, and evening-- not sure which was when-- in the company of Anne Dee, Palmer-- and later joined by her friend, Howard. I get a good nap, we have lunch at I-have-no-idea-what-time, delivered sushi well after dark, and I get a fabulous night's sleep on the most comfortable sofa in the world.

Deluxe Japanese Chin Darling Rectangle Magnet

And so, this begins a three-day visit that includes more friends, relatives, and finally a reunion with with women I attended Camp Winnetaska, a summer camp in Holderness, New Hampshire I last attended nearly four decades ago.

Palmer's a wonderful host and even cuter in person than he is in pictures-- although he takes an awfully adorable picture. (So does his owner.) He is immortalized in two shops:

Boutique Palm D'Or, Your Japanese Chin of Choice
and
Boutique Palm D'Or, Your Japanese Chin DeLuxe

Jill-- back home with her beloved-- if argumentative-- they're the attorneys of the canine world, you know-- Cairn terriers, Maggie and Geordie

The End of the Trail? Another Argument Against Cell Phones (May 8, 2007)

Sigh! Praise the Almighty God/Goddess on High. My Maggie is safe, but I am ashamed and chastened.

Maggie as She is Now

Another halcyon day-- of spring. It is summer weather but a whole mix of wild spring greenery flanks the trail as Maggie and Geordie and I set out for another walk. There's not a lot of variation to our path, but I know that the trail is pregnant with all sorts of aromatic history, so it's always a pleasant and exciting walk for them and for me.

I have trusted Maggie off-lead a lot because usually a pause and a call will bring her back to my side. And Geordie usually stays harnessed at the end of a double length of lead because the world is his oyster, hunting-wise-- and his pearl could be a squirrel.

It's the Salad Days of Spring; and Maggie, I am certain, was a ruminant in a former life. (Geordie, in contrast, was either a coyote or an irrigation system.) And the nose-candy (not the white illegal kind) is fabulous if you're a dog. To put it into visual terms, it's like looking out and seeing a thousand of lines of multicolored strands of Silly String waiting for you to catch the ends and pull! Boundless entertainment. So much variety and it's all good! After all, dogs rarely make value judgments when it comes to scent.

Maggie and Geordie and I take the straightaway. We arrived at a locked gate and start the return trip car-ward. My car waits by the street curb about ten yards of so from the trail's entrance.

There is a side path. Very predictable for me. There's a log for Geordie to jump over that Maggie ducks under-- and lots of leafy stuff to evaluate. There are forks at the end and they all lead to a precipice; we rarely venture that far.

My cell phone rings. A friend is returning a call. We're chatting and I'm hitting auto-pilot without even knowing it.

"What a triumphantly glorious day!" I tell my friend. I feel the tug of Geordie wanting to move out half a football-field out in front of me. I assume that Maggie is exploring as she is wont to do. I'm watching nothing but "the day." I will call her back to me in a moment. I say goodbye to my friend and I notice that Maggie is completely out of sight! I almost-panic but don't quite yet. Even though she's going to turn 13 next week, her hearing is fine and her eyesight is adequate even for hand signals at a distance.

I tug Geordie down different forks of the trail. I look over one, and I see the cars driving on Highway 99E but don't allow myself to mentally "go there." I shove that thought from my brain but yell until my voice is raw.

Still no Maggie.

Finally a man with a rather grumpy and studly Basset Hound appears on the trail and starts snarfing at Geordie. I have no patience for Geordie's testosterone-driven one-uppence. I have already thought of cougars and when I look into the blue sky, I see a bird of prey-- a stretch perhaps for it to lift up a sixteen-pound Cairn terrier girl, but maybe I missed the other larger one that may have circled close by.

"Have you seen a dog that looks like this one?" I ask hopefully. I'm visibly shaken.

"All the way at the beginning of the trail. Red collar." Not atypical, really, that she might actually be waiting for us. Maggie is a very well-behaved girl most of the time, if you don't count the times when she barks at you-- it's usually because she wants something. It can be annoying.

I tug Geordie and we run fast. His resistance tells me he wants to be a little casual-- to savor the moment. It's not the first time I have ever perceived something like schadenfreude between these siblings. I think he may be enjoying this "only dog" thing and knowing that his sister is off doing something not- so- angelic.

Maggie once seemed to express schadenfreude , as well -- A few years ago, someone (who'll remain nameless) left the gate open and Geordie went AWOL, her expressive face revealed what really looked like a self-righteous "gloatiness."

Meanwhile, I went bonkers while Geordie made friends with the inhabitants of about five or six households a few streets down. People reported that he'd entered their houses, helped himself to their cats' food, and joined them on their sofas to watch TV. (Fortunately all ended well when someone placed him in a fenced yard of a neighbor who'd gone on vacation, and there he was-- three hours after we first noticed he was missing, looking very content-- there was more food and water-- waiting (or maybe not) for Larry and me to home. The gate would never be left unlocked again. . .)

Geordie and I are not far from the trail's head. I keep yelling Maggie's name. Finally, I see her booking toward me! It's her all right! Gratitude flows through me, and all three of us, reunited, walk back to the car. I unlock the door and Maggie jumps in. (It's the Canine Essentials that makes her so limber in spite of arthritis. ) Geordie follows.

Three kids are playing in their yard across the street from where I'm parked.

"Did you see her by the car earlier?" I ask them.

Indeed they had. In a blink of an eye, Maggie had decided to change the course. She had been out of earshot all those long (fifteen minutes) that I'd been yelling for her. Mingled with exhilaration and relief are more thoughts about what could have happened and how it would have been all my fault.

I have learned my lesson. No more casual cell phone chats while we walk-- and especially off-lead! And besides, it's so much better when I can be with my two with no distraction at all. Pure joy!

Cairn Casual

from Holy Terrier Dog Designs

We go home and Maggie demands dinner. Sure beats her having been something else's dinner. Raw chicken backs all around!

Jill, Geordie, and The Adventurous MagaDog

Fudge is a Girl’s Best Friend? (Nominally Terrier-related, since he is part Yorkshire “Terrier.”)

From April 5, 2007:

This is Laurie Schwartz's beloved Yorkshire Terrier- Poodle mix named Fudgie! Since his original owners could not provide him with the love, attention, companionship he craved “. . . and food,” quips Laurie, so she adopted him.

Fate had its hand in uniting these “soul mates.” Laurie, who lives in Commack, NY, was occasionally asked to baby-sit for this precious little ball of fur whenever the family was out of town. Sadly, for Fudgie, his original family was so busy. Things did not improve for Fudgie, who was increasingly left alone all day long and for most of the night. This broke Laurie’s heart.

But a joyous opportunity would eventually appear when Laurie received a call from these owners had no time to supply this charming little dog. She finally saw the light and offered Fudgie to Laurie. Of course, she said "yes" because Fudgie had already stolen her heart.

Fudgie's Boutique
Lots and lots of colorful goodies starring FUDGIE!

"We're bonded together like glue!" says Laurie, using an interesting analogy, as Laurie is a versatile, accomplished, and gifted crafter. See a small sample of her work at: LuLu's Crafts. This side doesn’t even begin to cover the scope of Laurie’s work and talent.

After Laurie suffered an accident that kept her homebound, Fudgie, a born therapy dog, helped her recuperate and even today is always by her side for hugs, kisses, or just "time to chill."

She cannot imagine life without this very special spirit-- truly her best friend and companion! What Fudgie gives to Laurie, she turns around and gives back tenfold or and more. She donates hand-made Afghans to an organization called Hugs for Homeless Animals. During the summer when the need for blankets decreases, Laurie stays active in food drives for homeless dogs and cats.

Fudgie's Other Boutique

Contains a whole line of Fudgie products!

Another one of Laurie Schwartz's favorite outlets for her charity is The Little Shelter, a no-kill animal adoption center in Huntington, New York that provides a variety of wonderful services to animals in need. I post this to thank Laurie and all others whose hearts go out to animals in need and especially those whose commitment to those, like Laurie Schwartz, whose actions back up that dedication.

With heartfelt gratitude,

Mag, Geord, and Jill

Why is this Night Different? A Passover Memory from April of 2001: "Two-Dog Night"

I just followed the path that my mind and soul set before me to celebrate Passover. As for the participants and the foods and dinnerware, I simply decided to use what was at hand, which—when you think about it—is exactly what the Israelites did during that first Passover that all the subsequent celebrations that were to come. By definition the word Seder means “order,” and so I established a sequence to ours.

I found this: Passover on the Net
So, due largely to my pedigree-- though not so much to my upbringing where Passover was little more than a night to eat some of the traditional foods: gefilte fish with two kinds of horseradish and matzoh, I decided to celebrate Passover with Maggie and Geordie.

Larry had to late, Noah was in Bend snowboarding at Mt. Bachelor with some friends, and Alan was at college in Claremont, California: I encouraged him to go to a Seder had there been one on campus-- and to celebrate Easter on Sunday, too. He did neither, having just returned to school after Spring Break and being in the thick of it. His last Instant Message tag had read "politicking at Pomona."

Geordie, the oldest male "child,” although an extraordinarily bright canine was—and still is-- illiterate, so I had to do some adaptation to allow his “reading” of The Four Questions using the order laid out on the site—with total reverence, I might add: I am serious!

Moreover, I finally found a use for the trophies that my dogs won in obedience competition. They have remained unused for any other occasion: small crystal glasses. By using the small Nyquil-sized ones they earned for 4th place scores, Maggie, Geordie, and I each had our own, and there was one for Elijah as well. I (reluctantly) bought Manischewitz Blackberry wine—for our home is in Oregon-- where blackberries grow like weeds. This wine is so thick and cloyingly sweet that it might make a funky topping for vanilla ice cream. Even the dogs, who are as omnivorous as dogs can get backed away from their glasses of “wine.” For us, it’s unanimously undrinkable!

The dinnerware was paper plates and brand new plastic utensils! Never used for anything else.

My intention was to experience gratitude, something I am all too mindless about. I bought a Yazreit candle, which I lit for the six million Jews and all the others in the world who have suffered blatant injustice, regardless of their faith. I will light it again on the eighth night.

A Seder with my dogs may seem eccentric-- but by no means was it flippant or insincere. Even though my dogs were, on that first night of Passover, my only family present (and by birth, being of Scottish descent, probably Presbyterian), the night was ecumenical!

I prepared a special charoset (symbolic of the mortar stuff that bonded) made from apples, walnuts, honey. To theirs, I’ll added some chicken gizzards and
hearts. Yummmmmmmmmmmm.

"Some of my Best Friends. . .Jewish" Cairn Framed Tile

They actually make matzoh-ball-soup-in-a-cup? Kosher for Passover. Soup for one, two, three. . . The prize for the first “child” to find the afikomen (hidden matzoh) was the matzoh itself! Maggie used her keen nose to find it first but shared it with Geordie. (She really had no choice.) Had it been reverse, I’m not so sure Geordie would have been so charitable.

Our celebration had elements of a modern cyber-ceremony-- "Dayenu" played in the background from my computer’s speakers. I lit a candle for the six million Jews and all the other victims of the unthinkable genocide. This was a regular candle, one I used once before during a blackout. I'd save my Yazreit one for the 8th day, as tradition dictates for a less iconoclastic observance.

I did not celebrate Passover the same way as Dr. Laura or Joe Lieberman or Rabbi Shmuley from Shalom in the Home or even Rabbi Michael Lerner or even most other Jews or others who observe this feast. One could argue that this was crazy- and you might have had a case for this—but this celebration—this doing it our way, had much meaning for me, just as we did it.

Note: Yesterday—about six years after the one at which I was the only human being--Maggie, Geordie, Larry, and I shared another impromptu Passover. We incorporated not only the traditional foods—the most that I could amass in Portland, OR on such short notice but also The Two Minute Haggadah -- for humor and perspective--as well as a few bits of information off some other choice sites. We had none of the Manischewitz—instead, we had some really delicious kosher grape juice. We used the special glasses, which we only used for this holiday. And we had new paper plates and utensils.

There will always be the need for that. So much has transpired since: the war in Iraq, continued unrest in Israel, Palestine, and all over the Middle East. And the genocide in Darfur .

Happy Passover, and one day may there be peace on earth . . . Shalom.

Mag, Geord, Larry, and Jill

In D-Fence of Straddling

It came down to a rather weird experience that gave me a metaphorical answer to whether to do what needed to be done to come to NYC for a summer camp reunion. I attended Camp Winnetaska almost forty years ago. With the support (literal and figurative) of my sister Meg Rudansky, I really began to consider making the trip-- despite my somewhat pathological attachment to Larry and Maggie and Geordie.

The incident that catalyzed it all occurred in February. And it was about straddling fences:

In mid-February, twice-- not once-- but TWICE within five days, I locked myself out of the house. The first time it was about ten-thirty at night, Larry was still working (late), and I didn't want to bother my neighbors. My only option was to climb and straddle my five-foot chain link fence and ease myself down to prevent any limb breakage.

I was successful.

The next step was a bit more challenging. If I could cram myself through the dog door far enough to enable me to turn the lock of that back door, I'd be in. Fortunately, I was skillful enough-- and not-of-greater-circumference-(enough)-- to wedge through this small-- you see, my dogs are compact 15 or 17-pounders-- opening. Thank goodness, I didn't have to saw off my hips. I was in far enough to open the door.

Then two days later, about to embark upon a lovely walk along the path to a local pioneer cemetery, I escorted the dogs to the car. I had some keys, but oddly, they were not my keys. So I got to repeat the whole process-- with my dogs waiting and looking bewildered-- in the car. Mission accomplished.

Twice in one week, I not only straddled that stupid fence but got over to the other side and did what needed to be done.

So the next day I booked my flight to New York, figuring that my "straddling fences" twice-- and climbing to the other side was a SIGN. Which is probably bullshit.

Post Script. Later I discovered that Larry had opened the gate and had forgotten to close the padlock after all, so I could have simply walked in and not had to straddle any fences. Just another example of how I make life difficult for myself.

Jill-- with Maggie and Geordie cocking their heads in astonishment. Are humans really that stupid?

Cairn Terrier Vocalse

There’s been quite the discussion on the cairn-list about “arooooooooing” and other styles of Cairn terrier vocalizations, or Cairn vocalise, as I like to call it, having had a wee bit of vocal training in my own background and a modicum of pretention.

(My age contains enough years to make two American Idols.)

Members of this list have had a free-for-all sharing what their Cairn terriers say and how they say is.

I noticed that my friend Jeanie in Snohomish, WA, who happens to be a terrorist (okay, it’s officially called a “librarian”)

Strange Librarians
Terrorists or stewards of the minds? God forbid that reading a banned book should make you think!

posted that Geordie has the ability to say the word “HELLO.” When you hear it, it more or less knocks your socks off. Those who haven’t heard it think I am making it up. I am not making it up.

To be fair, Geordie does have a bit of a speech impediment in that he has difficulty pronouncing the "l". Therefore, his "hello" sounds more like a well-enunciated "herro."

Both my dogs use their voices and do so uniquely.

Geordie:
1) Greets you in English, but if he were ever on Letterman, he would take great pleasure in acting mute and regarding me with a look reserved for total loons.
2) Has the vocal range of Julie Andrews in her prime. (I may have mentioned this before.)
3) Grumbles and growls at bushes. He apparently has something to say to
whatever dog was there before he arrived to re-anoint. (Growls at
Bushes.) Also talks to trees.
4) I am told that in my absence, he emits a very plaintive lupine howl.
I am also told that it breaks your heart if you hear it and that he
makes a little "o" with his mouth.
5) Sleep-talking, sleep-crying, sleep-growling. Hard to let sleeping dog
lie.
6) The usual Cairn vocalise. Sometimes sounds like Cousin It from The
Addams Family. If I don't groom him, he will also resemble Cousin It
with a fleece vest under his hair.
7) Not much of an arrrrrrrrrrrroooooooo-er. But his brother Haggis is
one.

Maggie:
1) Beautiful mezzo voice, like Marilyn Horne would have if she were a
Cairn terrier. Lovely timbre and overtones and more of an alto than a
soprano. Only slightly more lyrical than dramatic.
2) Garrulous. She likes to talk a lot. She barks. Has rhythm. Would
hypnotize prey if she gave a rip about Earthdog tests.
3) When hungry, she manufactures a sound that is a dead ringer for a
crying infant. You know-- Nature made babies that way so that their
mothers would attend to them. She developed this during middle age.
4) Variety of Cairn vocalise. She is probably practicing her scales.

Cairn Terrier "Tub 'O Pups"

Oh, dear—these puppies have a whole story! We were so involved in LIVING this story that I have yet to write about it. All are Oliver’s children (Geordie’s grandkids.) But it’s not simple. One is a half-sib. Can you pick him out?

HOLY TERRIER DOG DESIGNS, again.)

Kind words and sentiments from Mag, Geord, and their faithful lackey, Jill

What Not To Wear to Westminster (Obligatory "Catty" Post)

From February 2007:

I am baffled by a variation on the same fashion show that plays out every year on the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show's famous green carpet.

Why do so many handlers dress so unflatteringly? The subtle skill of conformation dog handling evades me. I am truly awful at it. The task would seem almost Sisyphusian when the person presenting the Quintessential Specimen of One's Chosen Breed to showcase his or her dog might easily be mistaken for an escapee from a drunken Mardi Gras celebration.

For a dog to rise to the top eschelons in the world of competitive dog shows, he or she must be in prime condition. Entry fees, travel expenses, and overall care can easily cost $100,000 and frequently more, especially if one hires a professional-- with his or her doggy cargo-- to jump flealike from airport to airport, from city to city, from fairground to hotel ballroom to sports arena.

It appears that so much is poured into these well-conditioned illustrations-from-coffee-table-books-come-t0-life dogs that someone often seems to sacrifice something.

Could it be STYLE?

Not even at Madison Square Garden, the venue of this "America's oldest sporting event with the exception of the Kentucky Derby" that takes place every February in Midtown Manhattan does fashion common sense reign. I remember Glamour Magazine during my youth mostly to get a load of the incarnations of fashion no-no's that graced their final pages. At least the the editors mercifully--and prudently for legal reasons -- obscured the unsuspecting offenders' faces. These women were generally better dressed than I, but I did come away quasi-educated about who should not wear horizontal stripes or tops chopped midpoint at the torso. I also learned what accentuates and minimizes a prominent derrière. It was enough to turn many women agoraphobic!

Is there an Official Dog Show Dress Code that has nothing to do with self-awareness and good taste? Does one have to trade in one's own sense of aesthetics for the ability to honestly assess your show dog's positive and negative qualities? Is it the law to wear clothing that is at least two sizes too small?

Perhaps some savvy designer can come up with a line of dog-handling clothes with lots of pockets for the liver and other pungent bait some handlers like to share with their canine charges. In VANITY sizes that start in sizes below ZERO.

Ah b'lieve thar's gold in that thar enterprise.

Perhaps that is not always the case. Surely most people don't spend more time reading clothing labels than assessing their reflections in HONEST mirrors. I'd bet money that some who handlers still wearing clothes from their svelte Jr. Handling days when they first got hooked on the hobby and on winning. AKC Junior Handling is practically a snake pit-- in many ways more competitive and cutthroat than the Big Leagues.

Another potential business for someone enterprising is ON-SITE tailoring and alterations. Or pre-show consultations. One might think that if you can afford to campaign your dog, you should be able to afford one well-fitting outfit that's right for your body. Moreover, BIG can be bold and beautiful if it's not shoved into "sausage casing." The latest in underwear engineering can make visible panty lines disappear as quickly as ****roaches the moment someone hits the light switch.

Yesterday (Opening Night) and again this evening (Closing Night) my mother's advice about how important it is to wear well-fitted brassiere bonks me on the head like one of Wile E. Coyote's anvils gone wrong. Or how sometimes a simple A-line dress can be a flattering style for most folk-- woman and some M-to-F transgendered folks, anyway. Or how proper skirt lengths complement certain human body types and leg shapes.

How right she was! (My mother, that is. ) And I'm not even going to go into what appears to be a CODE ORANGE sequin and strange shoe crisis. These are modern times. Comfortable shoes don't have to resemble the squeaky orthopedic shoes that the overbearing mother of English teacher Albert Peterson wore in Bye Bye Birdie. My fifth grade teacher, Miss Stroller-- a perfect name for comfortable walking now that I think about it-- had an almost identical pair in playground-ball red.

Someone queried the cairn-list about whether the primary clothing offenders were women. Without a doubt, there are some men with questionable taste, but foundation garments don't present the same problem with men as they do with women. However, society in general has presented more variables and "options" woman than for guys. It's just another inherent inequity.


Hemlines aren't usually an issue, although it's but a matter of
time before someone will hit the scene donning Pee Wee Herman-length
pants. Nevertheless, even if you expect the unexpected, you're bound to
be surprised.

So tonight's gala at the Garden ended with the Best in Show going to yet another English Springer Spaniel that looked like-- well-- a pretty damned good one. The Terrier Group last night's victor was a top-winning Dandie Dinmont that's been mopping up the Terrier Group ring for the last year. I was rather partial to a little Sealyham that took a Group Third.

Example of a handsome Sealyham:

Sealyham Terrier in Welsh Valley

As if by magic, Aust/NZ Ch. Toledo Sam of Tentyne finds himself in a beautiful Welsh Valley. "How Green Was My Valley." Quintessential Sealyham Terrier!

Available at Holy Terrier Dog Design

Geordie, as usual, watched a bit of the show, but I had TiVo'd the program for later and
it was already way into the wee hours, so he didn't show the typical élan of past years. After all, it is his eleventh Westminster and we were all so very tired. And Maggie has always had nothing but disdain for such blatant pageantry.

Goodnight. I admit that I prefer for myself the inconspicuous look but also admit that I am a terrible dog handler. I would be more conspicuous than even the most brazenly outrageously dressed competent dog handler-- even if I really were invisible.

Jill (neither a great dresser nor a fan of lycra catsuits for everyday wear nor the faux snake skin look)

Geordie (only fashions from Maison de Barb Schuster) He also wants to show you a clip of his son, AmCan CH. KinLoch's Royal Troon, ME's triumph at Westminister 2005 in the breed ring.

Oliver's owner/handler dressed very nicely, by the way.

Maggie (simple, tasteful, and understated in natural textures and colors)

DISCLAIMER: If the shoe doesn't fit (figuratively) and you dress with great panache, I don't mean you, so don't get your panties tied in knots. Otherwise their outlines will become visible. It is inevitable.

Showtime in the De"fRos(e)t"ing City (Part Two)

(From 01/23/07)

There was no scarcity of interesting people. Several who stopped by our Tahitian Noni Juice booth rescue homeless dogs. Seemingly tireless and with enviable tenacity and commitment, there is no way they cannot be weary.

Midway through the shows, I met Linda Ball whose life seems anything but boring. leads an interesting life. After college, she joined the Peace Corps and subsequently began rescuing dogs from all over the globe-- from practically any location from where she could legally fly a dog back to the states. But for now, she directs Pawsitive Perspectives, an agency that trains and provides assistance dogs. (More about Linda in a future entry.)

Helen Ford, who won a bottle of Tahitian Noni Juice in one of our bi-hourly drawings, stopped by with her Boston Terriers and friends.

Note: Boy, have I dropped the proverbial ball here!
Jill (06/16/07)

Showtime in the "FRose City" (Part One)

(From 01/22/07)

I'm anticipating that it will take as long to organize my thoughts and write about this weekend as it would to unravel and re-ravel The Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota. Every inche of its six point million feet of sisal.


Speaking of roadside attractions, the annual Rose City Cluster of All-Breed Dog Shows (including a Thursday of specialties, including the Terrier Association of Oregon's Group Show) at the Portland Exposition Center, is an Interstate-5-side attraction.

However the snow actually stuck and the icy roads remained frozen. I wondered if we'd even make it to the venue. Schools closed for most of the week, national news programs and even The Tonight Show and the "Oddball" segment of Countdown With Keith Olbermann featured slap-stickish scenes from Portland's bumper-carlike road scenes. At home on Monday especially, Geordie played Scratch 'n Sniff in the snow and Maggie cruised the back yard in the powder that did not melt for the entire day. But mostly we stayed warm and hunkered down within four walls. By Tuesday we ventured out for a surprisingly refreshing walk and they made yellow snow .

By Wednesday, although I could navigate the flat and well-sanded roads within a couple of miles of home, I wondered if I'd successfully journey to North Portland without becoming a mere insurance statistic. I practically held my breath, even as my friend Angel arrived from Ashland that evening. Leaving her "pre-existing dogs" at home in her partner's care, she made this pilgrimage to check out Westies at the Terrier Association of America's Specialty Show. Angel hopes one day to establish her own small hobby kennel. She and I planned to carpool on Thursday and and obviously succeeded, since I have lived to write about it.

I have been attending these shows for about fourteen years-- initially with Larry and my sons when we were looking to find our first family dog, which would be Maggie. After they had had enough and had pronounce me "one of those crazy dog people, " I kept going, either alone or with friends. Then I went to see Geordie compete in the conformation ring for his championship, a goal to which I, at first, I had merely acquiesced. A few years later, Maggie would make me proud (and save my ass) in the obedience ring. Subsequently Geordie would humble me while entertaining the ringside crowd and flirting with the female judges and stewards in the same obedience ring. For the last couple of years, I have come to support friends and root for Geordie's descendants (they're also Maggie's nieces and nephews) and browse the vendors.

Usually I leave Maggie at home, as she's not wild about the ambience: the lights are harsh, the cement floor is hard, and the canine potty areas are unbearable. On the other hand, for Geordie, it's probably the biggest, most fragrant, and fantabulous singles' bar this side of the Mississippi River. He and I-- we return to these shows every third week of January just as the swallows return from their winter vacation spot in Goya, Corriente, Argentina to San Juan Capistrano, CA each third week of March.

This year, Geordie (qua "canine spokesmodel") and I joined Paula and Brian at the vendor area at the Tahitian Noni Juice booth. On my agenda was introducing people to Canine Essentials products. Saturday and Sunday, Cairn terrier breeder Vicki Havlik and Rusty Han**** showed up and Cindi Marshall brought her beautiful Zoe on Friday, who stood in for Geordie as "spokesmodel" and did so most adorably.

Noni Spokesmodel Zoe enjoying Canine Essential Rewards
The good part about these shows is that you get to see old friends, such as the judge, a very nice breeder from Herndon, VA, who gave Geordie his first major win almost exactly nine years ago. And sometimes you can get your friends to be really good sports and groom your ragamuffin dog that has started to resemble a miniature yak.

(Thanks, Vicki)

And if you're fortunate, you may get to see your dog's granddaughter, CH. KinLoch's Marywood, RN ME, win a Best of Breed over a whole lot of other really fine dogs.

I will continue with Part Two, which I will at least begin tomorrow.
Meanwhile, visit Holy Terrier Dog Designs to fill some of your apparel and household needs in grand terrier style.

Cheerio from--
Jill, Magnet, Geordgan

Snowboundish

(From 01/16/07)

The snow that started to fall in hunks early this morning has not melted. I am fairly snowbound. Driving my pathetic, if serviceable, 1997 Geo Metro is risky at best and I've already cancelled some one appointment and expect to have to forgo a "working dinner" meeting in Portland.

Maggie accompanied Larry who bravely trudged to the mailbox, raised its flag, and removed The Oregonian from its yellow cubby hole. Geordie exited the dog door and examined the rare white stuff, gingerly using a paw to play "scratch 'n sniff" with the fallen snow. Powdery stuff. Shortly after that, he darted outside to confront an errant Labrador that confronted at the fence-- playfully yet asserting exactly whose yard this was.

Yesterday, was Martin Luther King's birthday and a day off for Larry, so we-- two humans, two canids-- headed down to the cemetery trailwhich is really the only suitable green space for our walks. Ice crackled beneath or feet and snow decorated the ground, spottily, sort of like the frosting on a Starbucks ginger scone. Took a few pictures with cell phones, which I don't recommend if you're after art-quality photography.
So it appears that we're stuck here, snowbound, Western Oregon-style, which is not the same a being walled in by three feet of Minnesotan snow or even the kind that makes it necessary to shovel your driveway. But it shows no sign of melting.

I will sit down with Maggie and Geordie, all hunkered down with a mug of Chai tea and a novel. Maggie will reread one of her Jane Austens.

Stay warm,
Jill, Mag, Geord

Holy Terrier Dog Designs

Cairn Terrier Tartan

Courageous, loyal, watchful, amusing, independent, spirited, and intelligent, the Cairn Terrier truly is "the best little pal."