Cautionary Tail: It's the Thought that Counts (09/03/06)
Still playing "catch up." It's August 27th, and I'm writing about stuff that happened weeks ago. Wonderful overcast, moist day in Oregon City. We just returned from a walk through the 'hood. I assuage my conscience knowing that even if we're covering the same ground, Maggie and Geordie's noses can turn it into a brand new place. Even boring suburban neighborhoods can be olfactorily dynamic.
There's PEE-mail to check and respond to. And today, after at least a month of mugginess, the air is infused with that cool, ozone-y complexity left by the rain that fell earlier. I let myself be a tad chilly to keep me moving quickly and to really enjoy the contrast between today and the sultry days that have followed in a never-ending procession.
(Time-lapse BLOG-graphy.)
I lied. It's really September 2nd. I may not finish this entry for another day or two. However, I should address what the title refers to. Actually, the event that precipitated it occurred about three weeks ago at Paula and Brian's after Paula offered Geordie a birthday present. I knew full well that he would take supreme pleasure in it but was unsure about whether his particular enjoyment would be appropriate.
A litter of four kittens were camped in a cabinet in Brian's office with their queen and perhaps one of them would fulfill Geordie's heart's desire. I had already chosen the sole orange tabby, a male.
This was the kitty only he was about half the size he is in this picture. . .
The resident canids Vinnie, Louie, and Pixie were nonchalant about the new feline denizens of their house in NE Portland. Maggie checked out the scene with mild interest and left. Geordie had yet to visit the two-week-old kittens, and frankly, I was less than certain that this was "the perfect gift," although it was certainly the loftiest and most valuable.
Vinnie is a seventeen-and-a-half year old Sheltie, who's still thriving on
Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials!
Brian accompanied me and Geordie, who was on-lead (my idea) to visit the cat-lets. At first, Geordie revealed his gentle side, the same side one sees when he first meets young puppies, when the mother begins to allow contact. He is positively awed and impossibly tender and tolerant.
That lasted only long enough for him to get the one whiff it took for him to determine that these did not smell like puppies at all. Dr. Jekyll became Mr. Hyde in that instant as Geordie switched into Earthdog mode, fixing to grab the poor creature by his neck for disposal by way of that characteristic dispassionate coup de grace. I restrained him as Brian removed Geordie's perfect orange-striped "plaything-turned-prey" to the safety of his mother's bosom.
The switch had been flipped. Mere moments after I removed Geordie from the room, closed the door, and led him upstairs, he was back and had posted himself in front of the office in full bolting posture and barking rhythmically-- a hypnotic sound barely drowned out by the sound of the DVD we were watching, Sweet Misery. (Aspartame is nasty stuff!) Might that have been how he was feeling? Miserable that he was being denied access to his "sweet"?
Geordie and favorite "cat" print bed
As for Paula's idea of A Kitty For Geordie would turn out to be an idea whose time would never come, it's the thought that counted. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it. He may have appreciated it too much. It's just that, for some Cairn terriers, some gifts-- by necessicity-- must be bestowed conditionally.
Still playing "catch up." It's August 27th, and I'm writing about stuff that happened weeks ago. Wonderful overcast, moist day in Oregon City. We just returned from a walk through the 'hood. I assuage my conscience knowing that even if we're covering the same ground, Maggie and Geordie's noses can turn it into a brand new place. Even boring suburban neighborhoods can be olfactorily dynamic.
There's PEE-mail to check and respond to. And today, after at least a month of mugginess, the air is infused with that cool, ozone-y complexity left by the rain that fell earlier. I let myself be a tad chilly to keep me moving quickly and to really enjoy the contrast between today and the sultry days that have followed in a never-ending procession.
(Time-lapse BLOG-graphy.)
I lied. It's really September 2nd. I may not finish this entry for another day or two. However, I should address what the title refers to. Actually, the event that precipitated it occurred about three weeks ago at Paula and Brian's after Paula offered Geordie a birthday present. I knew full well that he would take supreme pleasure in it but was unsure about whether his particular enjoyment would be appropriate.
A litter of four kittens were camped in a cabinet in Brian's office with their queen and perhaps one of them would fulfill Geordie's heart's desire. I had already chosen the sole orange tabby, a male.
This was the kitty only he was about half the size he is in this picture. . .
The resident canids Vinnie, Louie, and Pixie were nonchalant about the new feline denizens of their house in NE Portland. Maggie checked out the scene with mild interest and left. Geordie had yet to visit the two-week-old kittens, and frankly, I was less than certain that this was "the perfect gift," although it was certainly the loftiest and most valuable.
Vinnie is a seventeen-and-a-half year old Sheltie, who's still thriving on
Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials!
That lasted only long enough for him to get the one whiff it took for him to determine that these did not smell like puppies at all. Dr. Jekyll became Mr. Hyde in that instant as Geordie switched into Earthdog mode, fixing to grab the poor creature by his neck for disposal by way of that characteristic dispassionate coup de grace. I restrained him as Brian removed Geordie's perfect orange-striped "plaything-turned-prey" to the safety of his mother's bosom.
The switch had been flipped. Mere moments after I removed Geordie from the room, closed the door, and led him upstairs, he was back and had posted himself in front of the office in full bolting posture and barking rhythmically-- a hypnotic sound barely drowned out by the sound of the DVD we were watching, Sweet Misery. (Aspartame is nasty stuff!) Might that have been how he was feeling? Miserable that he was being denied access to his "sweet"?
Geordie and favorite "cat" print bed
As for Paula's idea of A Kitty For Geordie would turn out to be an idea whose time would never come, it's the thought that counted. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it. He may have appreciated it too much. It's just that, for some Cairn terriers, some gifts-- by necessicity-- must be bestowed conditionally.
FEATURED SPECIAL GUEST
NOTE: Zoe is also Geordie's one and only official "daughter-in-law," as she is Oliver's one true love and WIFE. Available at Holy Terrier Dog Designs.Tartan Tam Terrier
"Zoe" aka CH. Cairndale's Stirling Affair cools her jets in a Portland park in donning stylish Scottish tam. This Cairn terrier is doted upon by Cindi & Bill Marshall; her breeder is Jeanne Mortenson.
"Zoe" aka CH. Cairndale's Stirling Affair cools her jets in a Portland park in donning stylish Scottish tam. This Cairn terrier is doted upon by Cindi & Bill Marshall; her breeder is Jeanne Mortenson.
September Song and Dance
Still playing "catch up." It's August 27th, and I'm writing about stuff that happened weeks ago. Wonderful overcast, moist day in Oregon City. We just returned from a walk through the 'hood. I assuage my conscience knowing that even if we're covering the same ground, Maggie and Geordie's noses can turn it into a brand new place. Even boring suburban neighborhoods can be olfactorily dynamic.
There's PEE-mail to check and respond to. And today, after at least a month of mugginess, the air is infused with that cool, ozone-y complexity left by the rain that fell earlier. I let myself be a tad chilly to keep me moving quickly and to really enjoy the contrast between today and the sultry days that have followed in a never-ending procession.
(Time-lapse BLOG-graphy.)
I lied. It's really September 2nd. I may not finish this entry for another day or two. However, I should address what the title refers to. Actually, the event that precipitated it occurred about three weeks ago at Paula and Brian's after Paula offered Geordie a birthday present. I knew full well that he would take supreme pleasure in it but was unsure about whether his particular enjoyment would be appropriate.
A litter of four kittens were camped in a cabinet in Brian's office with their queen and perhaps one of them would fulfill Geordie's heart's desire. I had already chosen the sole orange tabby, a male.
This was the kitty only he was about half the size he is in this picture. . .
The resident canids Vinnie, Louie, and Pixie were nonchalant about the new feline denizens of their house in NE Portland. Maggie checked out the scene with mild interest and left. Geordie had yet to visit the two-week-old kittens, and frankly, I was less than certain that this was "the perfect gift," although it was certainly the loftiest and most valuable.
Vinnie is a seventeen-and-a-half year old Sheltie, who's still thriving on
Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials!
Brian accompanied me and Geordie, who was on-lead (my idea) to visit the cat-lets. At first, Geordie revealed his gentle side, the same side one sees when he first meets young puppies, when the mother begins to allow contact. He is positively awed and impossibly tender and tolerant.
That lasted only long enough for him to get the one whiff it took for him to determine that these did not smell like puppies at all. Dr. Jekyll became Mr. Hyde in that instant as Geordie switched into Earthdog mode, fixing to grab the poor creature by his neck for disposal by way of that characteristic dispassionate coup de grace. I restrained him as Brian removed Geordie's perfect orange-striped "plaything-turned-prey" to the safety of his mother's bosom.
The switch had been flipped. Mere moments after I removed Geordie from the room, closed the door, and led him upstairs, he was back and had posted himself in front of the office in full bolting posture and barking rhythmically-- a hypnotic sound barely drowned out by the sound of the DVD we were watching, Sweet Misery. (Aspartame is nasty stuff!) Might that have been how he was feeling? Miserable that he was being denied access to his "sweet"?
Geordie and favorite "cat" print bed
As for Paula's idea of A Kitty For Geordie would turn out to be an idea whose time would never come, it's the thought that counted. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it. He may have appreciated it too much. It's just that, for some Cairn terriers, some gifts-- by necessicity-- must be bestowed conditionally.
Geordie Meets Geordie: Here Comes the Son! (09/10/06)
There's PEE-mail to check and respond to. And today, after at least a month of mugginess, the air is infused with that cool, ozone-y complexity left by the rain that fell earlier. I let myself be a tad chilly to keep me moving quickly and to really enjoy the contrast between today and the sultry days that have followed in a never-ending procession.
(Time-lapse BLOG-graphy.)
I lied. It's really September 2nd. I may not finish this entry for another day or two. However, I should address what the title refers to. Actually, the event that precipitated it occurred about three weeks ago at Paula and Brian's after Paula offered Geordie a birthday present. I knew full well that he would take supreme pleasure in it but was unsure about whether his particular enjoyment would be appropriate.
A litter of four kittens were camped in a cabinet in Brian's office with their queen and perhaps one of them would fulfill Geordie's heart's desire. I had already chosen the sole orange tabby, a male.
This was the kitty only he was about half the size he is in this picture. . .
The resident canids Vinnie, Louie, and Pixie were nonchalant about the new feline denizens of their house in NE Portland. Maggie checked out the scene with mild interest and left. Geordie had yet to visit the two-week-old kittens, and frankly, I was less than certain that this was "the perfect gift," although it was certainly the loftiest and most valuable.
Vinnie is a seventeen-and-a-half year old Sheltie, who's still thriving on
Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials!
Brian accompanied me and Geordie, who was on-lead (my idea) to visit the cat-lets. At first, Geordie revealed his gentle side, the same side one sees when he first meets young puppies, when the mother begins to allow contact. He is positively awed and impossibly tender and tolerant.
That lasted only long enough for him to get the one whiff it took for him to determine that these did not smell like puppies at all. Dr. Jekyll became Mr. Hyde in that instant as Geordie switched into Earthdog mode, fixing to grab the poor creature by his neck for disposal by way of that characteristic dispassionate coup de grace. I restrained him as Brian removed Geordie's perfect orange-striped "plaything-turned-prey" to the safety of his mother's bosom.
The switch had been flipped. Mere moments after I removed Geordie from the room, closed the door, and led him upstairs, he was back and had posted himself in front of the office in full bolting posture and barking rhythmically-- a hypnotic sound barely drowned out by the sound of the DVD we were watching, Sweet Misery. (Aspartame is nasty stuff!) Might that have been how he was feeling? Miserable that he was being denied access to his "sweet"?
Geordie and favorite "cat" print bed
As for Paula's idea of A Kitty For Geordie would turn out to be an idea whose time would never come, it's the thought that counted. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it. He may have appreciated it too much. It's just that, for some Cairn terriers, some gifts-- by necessicity-- must be bestowed conditionally.
FEATURED SPECIAL GUEST
NOTE: Zoe is also Geordie's one and only official "daughter-in-law," as she is Oliver's one true love and WIFE. Available at Holy Terrier Dog DesignsTartan Tam Terrier
"Zoe" aka CH. Cairndale's Stirling Affair cools her jets in a Portland park in donning stylish Scottish tam. This Cairn terrier is doted upon by Cindi & Bill Marshall; her breeder is Jeanne Mortenson.
"Zoe" aka CH. Cairndale's Stirling Affair cools her jets in a Portland park in donning stylish Scottish tam. This Cairn terrier is doted upon by Cindi & Bill Marshall; her breeder is Jeanne Mortenson.
Geordie Meets Geordie: Here Comes the Son! (09/10/06)
This is the episode where Geordie meets his youngest son, Jordy (the dauphin). I am way behind because there are a gazillion pictures and some narative as well.
Carolcairns Sterling Spirit (aka "Jordy")
We had become fast friends by email, by telephone, by cosmic influence even-- Michael and I, that is, and we would meet. for the first time, at 2:00 PM on September 9th at the Holistic Pet Center in Clackamas. Prior to our first face-to-face, I had been trying-- in my capacity as Breeder Coordinator for the two Pacific Northwest-based Cairn terrier clubs, the Columbia River Cairn Terrier Club and the Cascade Cairn Terrier Club, a bit farther to the north of Oregon's Willamette Valley and into Washington State.
Michael and I had spoken a few times to find the "perfect buddy." The third proposition I had turned out to be the charm. Michael is obviously one of the more intuitive people I've encountered.
Within ten minutes, he was on the phone with Cairn terrier breeder
Carol Brinkman in Tucson, Arizona. Withing half an hour, he had his flight reservations-- round-trip for him and one-way for "Kane" who would later renamed "Jordy." (For a while, Michael considered the Lakota Sioux "Nagi,"
which jibed meaning-wise with the Hawaiian "Kane." Both words meant "soul" or "spirit." But when the two met, it became apparent that was not the moniker with the best fit.)
The "Jordy" came after discussion-- and out of Michael's rather playful nature. Is there a reason that a father and son cannot have a homonymous name? It's not as though they are going to get lots of phone calls that require an answer to the question, "Which one?"
Michael considered the acronym "JJ" for Geordie/Jordy Junior. However, I killed that idea, as "JJ" had sort of became an unwitting familial generic name-sandwich. A great uncle JJ (Jumpin' Jack Flash) and a nephew JJ (Joyful Joe).
Meanwhile, back at the store, Michael stocked up on provisions: frozen chubs of tripe, lamb, chicken, and the guinea fowl that would prove not to be a favorite of young Jordy. Jordy cavorted with a young Labrador puppy and all was good-- until I thoughtlessly dropped a treat on the floor.
"He won't eat that," insisted Michael.
He was wrong, and when the Labrador pup joined him to share, Jordy would have none of it and had suddenly developed a penchant for tasty dog biscuits. Nothing like competition to whet the canine appetite. . .
Michael and Jordy followed me home to Oregon City in their Toyota truck full of goodies to be stored in the overflowing freezer until it was time for them to return to their home in South Salem. Jordy met his Aunt Maggie and exchanged pleasantries. Geordie, the elder had leapt up his usual meter or so before Michael place Jordy, the younger on the floor. We headed out the back door and were treated to a peeing match between father and son. Very cute, indeed-- if peeing contests between two intact male dogs happen to be something that floats your boat. (Jordy was scheduled for neutering the following week.)
The plan was to head to Brian and Paula's, but as Larry was going to stop at the radio station to tie up the perpetual loose ends, Michael, Geordie, Jordy, Maggie, and I drove separately. I subjected Michael, who's a rather accomplished guitarist-- blues, steel, and all manners-- to some music that exposed the generational distance between us: Laura Nyro's Eli and the Thirteenth Confession.
We arrived at Brian and Paula's and found ourselves with the usual hospitable greeting from them and their dogs, Pixie, Louie, and Vinnie. A beautiful afternoon indeed, and Brian just whipped up one of his sumptuous feasts.
Quiche this time-- and some delicious "peripherals" in the form of salads, these dwarfy zucchinis and other squashes, rustic bread begging to be slathered in the most virginal of the 72 Virgins (supposedly awaiting some folks in "heaven) extra-ultra-extra virgin olive oil.
But that would come after the play in the huge backyard.
(still in progress. . .)
Lots more to write, but for now I am just going to toss up a few photos to be labeled and shuffled about some time in the near (I hope) future.
Mag, Geord, Jill
Here Comes The Son:
Carolcairns Sterling Spirit (aka "Jordy")
We had become fast friends by email, by telephone, by cosmic influence even-- Michael and I, that is, and we would meet. for the first time, at 2:00 PM on September 9th at the Holistic Pet Center in Clackamas. Prior to our first face-to-face, I had been trying-- in my capacity as Breeder Coordinator for the two Pacific Northwest-based Cairn terrier clubs, the Columbia River Cairn Terrier Club and the Cascade Cairn Terrier Club, a bit farther to the north of Oregon's Willamette Valley and into Washington State.
Michael and I had spoken a few times to find the "perfect buddy." The third proposition I had turned out to be the charm. Michael is obviously one of the more intuitive people I've encountered.
Within ten minutes, he was on the phone with Cairn terrier breeder
Carol Brinkman in Tucson, Arizona. Withing half an hour, he had his flight reservations-- round-trip for him and one-way for "Kane" who would later renamed "Jordy." (For a while, Michael considered the Lakota Sioux "Nagi,"
which jibed meaning-wise with the Hawaiian "Kane." Both words meant "soul" or "spirit." But when the two met, it became apparent that was not the moniker with the best fit.)
The "Jordy" came after discussion-- and out of Michael's rather playful nature. Is there a reason that a father and son cannot have a homonymous name? It's not as though they are going to get lots of phone calls that require an answer to the question, "Which one?"
Michael considered the acronym "JJ" for Geordie/Jordy Junior. However, I killed that idea, as "JJ" had sort of became an unwitting familial generic name-sandwich. A great uncle JJ (Jumpin' Jack Flash) and a nephew JJ (Joyful Joe).
Meanwhile, back at the store, Michael stocked up on provisions: frozen chubs of tripe, lamb, chicken, and the guinea fowl that would prove not to be a favorite of young Jordy. Jordy cavorted with a young Labrador puppy and all was good-- until I thoughtlessly dropped a treat on the floor.
"He won't eat that," insisted Michael.
He was wrong, and when the Labrador pup joined him to share, Jordy would have none of it and had suddenly developed a penchant for tasty dog biscuits. Nothing like competition to whet the canine appetite. . .
Michael and Jordy followed me home to Oregon City in their Toyota truck full of goodies to be stored in the overflowing freezer until it was time for them to return to their home in South Salem. Jordy met his Aunt Maggie and exchanged pleasantries. Geordie, the elder had leapt up his usual meter or so before Michael place Jordy, the younger on the floor. We headed out the back door and were treated to a peeing match between father and son. Very cute, indeed-- if peeing contests between two intact male dogs happen to be something that floats your boat. (Jordy was scheduled for neutering the following week.)
The plan was to head to Brian and Paula's, but as Larry was going to stop at the radio station to tie up the perpetual loose ends, Michael, Geordie, Jordy, Maggie, and I drove separately. I subjected Michael, who's a rather accomplished guitarist-- blues, steel, and all manners-- to some music that exposed the generational distance between us: Laura Nyro's Eli and the Thirteenth Confession.
We arrived at Brian and Paula's and found ourselves with the usual hospitable greeting from them and their dogs, Pixie, Louie, and Vinnie. A beautiful afternoon indeed, and Brian just whipped up one of his sumptuous feasts.
But that would come after the play in the huge backyard.
(still in progress. . .)
Lots more to write, but for now I am just going to toss up a few photos to be labeled and shuffled about some time in the near (I hope) future.
Mag, Geord, Jill
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