Periodic "Fluff" Piece: Interview With a Diva, Miss Fiona Jones. . .
BabaWow0w: Fiona, when did you receive your 'first kiss' from destiny?
Fiona: It was that magic moment when my canine parents first "became one." That was the "kiss" that was destiny!
BBWW: Is there a very special man in your life?
F: I am only four. Naturally, my human daddy is special-- but more like how the short school bus is special. (Ed. note: Like the late, great Mary Martin-- and in the immortal lyrics of Cole Porter-- Fiona expresses that "My Heart Belongs to Daddy.")
BBWW: Have you always wanted to be a celebrity, or did you just have a very determined "stage mother"-- sort of like Ginger Rogers did?
F: I am fortunate to have a human mother who recognized my potential immediately. I was born to be in the spotlight.
BBWW: What do you think of Paris Hilton's Chihuahua, Tinkerbell?
F: Gag me with a SPORK! Puh-lease! That bitch has everything except star quality. And like her mother, she has zilch talent!
BBWW: Fiona, the Cairn terrier is not usually considered a "glamour breed." How are you changing that?
F: I have proven that a Cairn terrier can catch rats-- and within minutes pull herself together to walk the RED CARPET to accept an Earthdog Rosette.
BBWW: What's it like having two brothers?
F: It's a lot less crowded than having the original eight siblings-- and SEVEN BROTHERS, to boot! I'm the whole package. My leadership qualities manifested quite early. I was the first one to make The Grand Entrance. The leader of the pack, all my siblings needed to do was follow the applause.
Ah, but it is lots of work having to keep Trevor-- and especially Robbie-- in line. What they did before my arrival, let alone how they even survived, is beyond me!
BBWW: And having a famous father? Do you have anything to say about that?
F: Ah, yes! My father is AmCan CH KinLoch's Royal Troon, ME. I just adore watching him win on TV after he won Best of Breed at Westminster in February 2005. We have it recorded and I have seen it at least a million times and it is never boring. My ability as a chanteuse comes down from him and also from Grandpa Geordie! My vocal range exceeds Julie Andrews'-- in her PRIME!
F: My human mom is obsessed with it! She promises we'll do some other stuff. The OTEEC tests are less than a month away! I wonder if she will take me to a spa. Or to Doris Day's resort in Carmel to chill out!.
BBWW: With all the luxury and pampering you experience on a normal day, what sets certain days apart from the others?
F: You can never get too much of either, but it's simply divine when my Mom goes shopping and bestows a gift upon me-- or when the mailman presents me with a package.
BBWW: What is one of your most dramatic and memorable moments, Fiona?
F: Once in Turner, Oregon, I noticed that my Grandpa Geordie was incarcerated in a CRATE. *I* unzipped and liberated him! He told me how proud he was of his wonderful little granddaughter and bounced me on his stifle!
Grandpa Geordie: (off the record):" The Famous Crate Episode was a project we did together, but if it makes my precious princess of a granddaughter happy to believe that she did it all by herself, then so be it! I'm a doter."
Holy Terrier Dog Designs.
Proprietors,
Geord, Mag, Jill
"Wait! I Wanted MY PASTA Al Dente!"
Below is an excerpt from a special never-been-seen-or-read Baba Wowow interview with the
Cairn Terrier Known as Scotch Broom Fiona Jones, SE.
(Fiona's interpreter is her human "mother,"impressario, agent, and most enthusiastic-of-all fan, Katrina Berg Sussmeier. Edited for conciseness. Fiona does like to "talk.")
Cairn Terrier Known as Scotch Broom Fiona Jones, SE.
(Fiona's interpreter is her human "mother,"impressario, agent, and most enthusiastic-of-all fan, Katrina Berg Sussmeier. Edited for conciseness. Fiona does like to "talk.")
BabaWow0w: Fiona, when did you receive your 'first kiss' from destiny?
Fiona: It was that magic moment when my canine parents first "became one." That was the "kiss" that was destiny!
BBWW: Is there a very special man in your life?
F: I am only four. Naturally, my human daddy is special-- but more like how the short school bus is special. (Ed. note: Like the late, great Mary Martin-- and in the immortal lyrics of Cole Porter-- Fiona expresses that "My Heart Belongs to Daddy.")
BBWW: Have you always wanted to be a celebrity, or did you just have a very determined "stage mother"-- sort of like Ginger Rogers did?
F: I am fortunate to have a human mother who recognized my potential immediately. I was born to be in the spotlight.
BBWW: What do you think of Paris Hilton's Chihuahua, Tinkerbell?
F: Gag me with a SPORK! Puh-lease! That bitch has everything except star quality. And like her mother, she has zilch talent!
BBWW: Fiona, the Cairn terrier is not usually considered a "glamour breed." How are you changing that?
F: I have proven that a Cairn terrier can catch rats-- and within minutes pull herself together to walk the RED CARPET to accept an Earthdog Rosette.
BBWW: What's it like having two brothers?
F: It's a lot less crowded than having the original eight siblings-- and SEVEN BROTHERS, to boot! I'm the whole package. My leadership qualities manifested quite early. I was the first one to make The Grand Entrance. The leader of the pack, all my siblings needed to do was follow the applause.
Ah, but it is lots of work having to keep Trevor-- and especially Robbie-- in line. What they did before my arrival, let alone how they even survived, is beyond me!
BBWW: And having a famous father? Do you have anything to say about that?
I also love to dress up whenever we watch Westminster. It's the Academy Awards of dogdom, you know.
BBWW: Do you hope to finish your earthdog titles this year?F: My human mom is obsessed with it! She promises we'll do some other stuff. The OTEEC tests are less than a month away! I wonder if she will take me to a spa. Or to Doris Day's resort in Carmel to chill out!.
BBWW: With all the luxury and pampering you experience on a normal day, what sets certain days apart from the others?
F: You can never get too much of either, but it's simply divine when my Mom goes shopping and bestows a gift upon me-- or when the mailman presents me with a package.
BBWW: What is one of your most dramatic and memorable moments, Fiona?
F: Once in Turner, Oregon, I noticed that my Grandpa Geordie was incarcerated in a CRATE. *I* unzipped and liberated him! He told me how proud he was of his wonderful little granddaughter and bounced me on his stifle!
 |
Fiona's Grandpa Geordie
BBWW: Thank you for taking time out of your whirlwind schedule.
F: I owe it to my fans, to throw out an occasional bone. It is the least I can do.
F: I owe it to my fans, to throw out an occasional bone. It is the least I can do.
Grandpa Geordie: (off the record):" The Famous Crate Episode was a project we did together, but if it makes my precious princess of a granddaughter happy to believe that she did it all by herself, then so be it! I'm a doter."
Holy Terrier Dog Designs.
Proprietors,
Geord, Mag, Jill
"Wait! I Wanted MY PASTA Al Dente!"
Days have been whirling by and the six-day run of the 100th Annual Clackamas County Fair in Canby, although a mere fifteen-minute drive from here, made me rather rummy and caused me to place practically everything on hold. Maggie and Geordie had to make some sacrifices, too.
Forced into the Couch/Floor/Bed Potato mode, most days they had to resort to relieving themselves in our postage-stamp-sized fenced backyard. Occasionally, there were perfunctory walks around the neighborhood before I took off for the fair. Yet so UNfair!
Despite the sacrifices, along with Saturday's evening feeding, Maggie and Geordie
Saturday was my penultimate day to work at the Tahitian Noni booth at the fair. I hastily grabbed the melange of organic greens (arugula, cilantro, beet greens, parsley) and bits of ground free-range chicken that was to be the dogs' dinner from the freezer and plopped it on the counter to defrost. I took special care to set it far back enough to offset Geordie's pogo-stick reach. Larry agreed to measure out four- and five-and-a-half-ounce portions for Maggie and Geordie respectively. Then he'd meet me later at the fair.
I was on my way.
Saturday was busy. Brian had already been there four hours; he had manned the proverbial fort pretty much from sunrise past sunset for six consecutive days. Soon after I arrived, so did Paula. Then came Irina, who twelve years ago had Anglicized her name to "Irene" after emigrating from her native Ukraine. So were her husband, Vladimir, and her parents, who would see what there was to see while Irene/Irina hung back with the rest of us. (Vladimir would return at Sunday's fair's end to help load up Brian and Paula's van.)
I cannot get myself to call this vivacious bundle of energy, charm, and power anything BUT "Irina." This is partly because is not the woman to whom The Weavers once sang "Goodnight, Irene."
Since opening day on Tuesday, August 15. I'd been there for at least six hours, sometimes longer but knew that my endurance (regular exercise-- including all the dog walks), quite possibly the Tahitian Noni I'd drunk, and the food I dragged in: sprouted wheat Manna Bread, tahini, and a handful of fresh figs-- would sustain me. Fair food is sort of like dog show food. It's expensive, only a little more varied. and every bit as "healthful," so I knew I'd best avoid it. I drank the equivalent of an oil tanker-full of water.
Already it was past six o'clock so I called home.
"Did you feed the guys?" I asked Larry, confident that everything was in order; my instructions were clear.
"Yes. Just as you said." Larry averred.
"Did they clean their bowls?"
"Yes." A nice reassurance since I was unsure that Maggie and Geordie would find this new veggie mixture acceptably palatable. The first time they tasted a similar concoction, they liked it but maybe not quite as much as say-- green tripe.
Apparently they had eaten with exceptional gusto. Not a molecule remained.
We made plans to meet at the booth and wander the fairgrounds. After finding some lemonade (made to our desired tartness with actual lemons-- and not lemon-oids!) we checked out the rabbits, our eyes taking in some funky breeds-- including several which looked to be crosses between Angorras and Netherland Dwarves. Something-0r-Other-Woolies? One good-sized bunny with the markings resembling those of a Rottweiler took a Best of Breed rosette.
The poultry barn featured Polish chickens sporting crests that resembled lampshades, Silkies, Barred Rocks, various Cochins, and the kind of Rhode Island Red Roosters that have become sort of "generic" to most Americans. Well, sort of. The impressive assortment of ducks occupied Larry's attention.
We spent a less time with the goats, pigs, and sheep; but that someone had named her pig "Star Jones" did not escape me. In addition to Star, "Pigmalian" and a "Pig-a-Dilly" looked up lethargically from prone positions. Poor Star Jones. Not even an honorable mention! 2006 has not been kind to the woman.
We stopped at the Canby Police Department's booth, where I spun the wheel and embarrassed myself with my stunning ignorance of the correct answers to some basic traffic and law enforcement questions.
After we returned to the booth to meet up with Paula and Brian, Paula and I checked out some more of the booths-- including the assembly of food vendors that Paula dubbed "Heart Attack Row," we listened to a fairly infectious cover band called the Shwing Daddies as Brian, with unfettered enthusiasm, snapped pictures of each musician. Over the course of a week of their daily performances and solid musicianship, he had become one of their most adoring fans!
At around 11 or so, Larry and I trudged through the pervasive dustiness of the fairground, the various parking lots, and environs to the car.
Maggie and Geordie eagerly greeted us. Geordie, as usual, kept watch at the front window, panting with anticipation even though the air conditioning emitted sheer delight. Both barked, Geordie lept up and did his usual 360 spin, and Maggie rolled over coyly-- almost coquettishly. I love these reunions!
If anyone experiences "separation anxiety" when apart, it's me-- but not so much my Cairn terriers.
"So did you put the rest of the dogs' food in the freezer?" I asked Larry.
"No, it's in the refrigerator."
"No biggie. I'll just move it."
I opened the refrigerator to do the last few things before surrendering to my desire to completely decompress, shower off the dust, and head for bed.
"Holy s***!" I exclaimed, examining that the "dog food" container I was about to transfer to the freezer. In it was not your conventional-- or even unconventional-- dog food, per se.
It was the
that Pat and I had made the previous week. Chock full of basil, parsley, garlic, pine nuts, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, walnuts, and ?. We'd eaten some and frozen the rest.
On Sunday, to ensure that I would not repeat this, I brought the remainder of the PESTO to the booth to share along with some other goodies: more "manna" bread, Emmenthaler (THE BEST Switzerland gen-u-wine Swiss cheese ever), tahini, bread, and whole wheat and sesame crackers.
Irina had never tasted it before and discovered that she liked it. I begged her to take it home suggesting that she spread it on some rustic bread or on crackers or even better-- toss it into some pasta-- maybe some nice capellini or fettucine or fusilli.
PESTO should definitely not be served a la carte in a dog food bowl.
Getting Closer?
And someone's too long at the fair. . .
Happy to be home with Mag and Geord,
Jill
Forced into the Couch/Floor/Bed Potato mode, most days they had to resort to relieving themselves in our postage-stamp-sized fenced backyard. Occasionally, there were perfunctory walks around the neighborhood before I took off for the fair. Yet so UNfair!
Despite the sacrifices, along with Saturday's evening feeding, Maggie and Geordie
experienced a bit of serendipity-- Italian-style!
Saturday was my penultimate day to work at the Tahitian Noni booth at the fair. I hastily grabbed the melange of organic greens (arugula, cilantro, beet greens, parsley) and bits of ground free-range chicken that was to be the dogs' dinner from the freezer and plopped it on the counter to defrost. I took special care to set it far back enough to offset Geordie's pogo-stick reach. Larry agreed to measure out four- and five-and-a-half-ounce portions for Maggie and Geordie respectively. Then he'd meet me later at the fair.
I was on my way.
Saturday was busy. Brian had already been there four hours; he had manned the proverbial fort pretty much from sunrise past sunset for six consecutive days. Soon after I arrived, so did Paula. Then came Irina, who twelve years ago had Anglicized her name to "Irene" after emigrating from her native Ukraine. So were her husband, Vladimir, and her parents, who would see what there was to see while Irene/Irina hung back with the rest of us. (Vladimir would return at Sunday's fair's end to help load up Brian and Paula's van.)
I cannot get myself to call this vivacious bundle of energy, charm, and power anything BUT "Irina." This is partly because is not the woman to whom The Weavers once sang "Goodnight, Irene."
спокойной ночи ИРИНА
spakOynay nOchi Irina
I am still not sure I got this correct even though I just wasted about twenty minutes Googling various translation and transliteration sites!
The hours flew by in spite of the sauna-like atmosphere within the Main Pavillion where we were stationed. As the week progressed, the temperature and the noise level would crescendo with every new day.Since opening day on Tuesday, August 15. I'd been there for at least six hours, sometimes longer but knew that my endurance (regular exercise-- including all the dog walks), quite possibly the Tahitian Noni I'd drunk, and the food I dragged in: sprouted wheat Manna Bread, tahini, and a handful of fresh figs-- would sustain me. Fair food is sort of like dog show food. It's expensive, only a little more varied. and every bit as "healthful," so I knew I'd best avoid it. I drank the equivalent of an oil tanker-full of water.
Already it was past six o'clock so I called home.
"Did you feed the guys?" I asked Larry, confident that everything was in order; my instructions were clear.
"Yes. Just as you said." Larry averred.
"Did they clean their bowls?"
"Yes." A nice reassurance since I was unsure that Maggie and Geordie would find this new veggie mixture acceptably palatable. The first time they tasted a similar concoction, they liked it but maybe not quite as much as say-- green tripe.
Apparently they had eaten with exceptional gusto. Not a molecule remained.
We made plans to meet at the booth and wander the fairgrounds. After finding some lemonade (made to our desired tartness with actual lemons-- and not lemon-oids!) we checked out the rabbits, our eyes taking in some funky breeds-- including several which looked to be crosses between Angorras and Netherland Dwarves. Something-0r-Other-Woolies? One good-sized bunny with the markings resembling those of a Rottweiler took a Best of Breed rosette.
The poultry barn featured Polish chickens sporting crests that resembled lampshades, Silkies, Barred Rocks, various Cochins, and the kind of Rhode Island Red Roosters that have become sort of "generic" to most Americans. Well, sort of. The impressive assortment of ducks occupied Larry's attention.
We spent a less time with the goats, pigs, and sheep; but that someone had named her pig "Star Jones" did not escape me. In addition to Star, "Pigmalian" and a "Pig-a-Dilly" looked up lethargically from prone positions. Poor Star Jones. Not even an honorable mention! 2006 has not been kind to the woman.
We stopped at the Canby Police Department's booth, where I spun the wheel and embarrassed myself with my stunning ignorance of the correct answers to some basic traffic and law enforcement questions.
After we returned to the booth to meet up with Paula and Brian, Paula and I checked out some more of the booths-- including the assembly of food vendors that Paula dubbed "Heart Attack Row," we listened to a fairly infectious cover band called the Shwing Daddies as Brian, with unfettered enthusiasm, snapped pictures of each musician. Over the course of a week of their daily performances and solid musicianship, he had become one of their most adoring fans!
At around 11 or so, Larry and I trudged through the pervasive dustiness of the fairground, the various parking lots, and environs to the car.
Maggie and Geordie eagerly greeted us. Geordie, as usual, kept watch at the front window, panting with anticipation even though the air conditioning emitted sheer delight. Both barked, Geordie lept up and did his usual 360 spin, and Maggie rolled over coyly-- almost coquettishly. I love these reunions!
If anyone experiences "separation anxiety" when apart, it's me-- but not so much my Cairn terriers.
"So did you put the rest of the dogs' food in the freezer?" I asked Larry.
"No, it's in the refrigerator."
"No biggie. I'll just move it."
I opened the refrigerator to do the last few things before surrendering to my desire to completely decompress, shower off the dust, and head for bed.
"Holy s***!" I exclaimed, examining that the "dog food" container I was about to transfer to the freezer. In it was not your conventional-- or even unconventional-- dog food, per se.
It was the
that Pat and I had made the previous week. Chock full of basil, parsley, garlic, pine nuts, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, walnuts, and ?. We'd eaten some and frozen the rest.
On Sunday, to ensure that I would not repeat this, I brought the remainder of the PESTO to the booth to share along with some other goodies: more "manna" bread, Emmenthaler (THE BEST Switzerland gen-u-wine Swiss cheese ever), tahini, bread, and whole wheat and sesame crackers.
Irina had never tasted it before and discovered that she liked it. I begged her to take it home suggesting that she spread it on some rustic bread or on crackers or even better-- toss it into some pasta-- maybe some nice capellini or fettucine or fusilli.
PESTO should definitely not be served a la carte in a dog food bowl.
Getting Closer?
And someone's too long at the fair. . .
Jill
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