Holy Terrier Dog

Still Heartbroken By Loss of My Two Best Friends

2009-02-28T16:15:00.000-08:00

It's been months, and even now, I find it close to impossible to add this to this blog. Its conclusion. But I add this as some sort closure perhaps.

Maggie and Geordie have both left this plain of existence-- and tragically within months of each other. Though they live in my heart eternally, this world is a lonelier place without their physical manifestations. I now, so belatedly, post tributes to my beloved companions.

First posted as email on August 9, 2008.

A Gift Named Maggie

My tears won't stop for very long, but I could no longer let her suffer. I wanted her to be here forever, but no real choice remained; that never happens. Only three days ago Maggie and I walked around the block. She stopped many times to smell and the earth and delight in its vegetation, and less than a week ago, she still barked-that incessant but mellifluous sound-- to befed.(Sometimes I called her "Audrey II.")

As time passed, it took longer and longer for her to clean her bowl as her head continued to tilt farther and farther to one side offsetting her equilibrium. She could barely get traction, and finally more and more frequently it became nearly impossible for her to stand for long.

For a few months, several times daily, I opened the door (she no longer had the strength or coordination to use the dog door), and just a little wobbly, she'd run to the grass in the front yard, and when finished, return to the door. Dignified to the end, this morning I carried her outside, and true to her fastidious self, she waited but could only lie sideways to relieve herself.

I took her back to my bed and lay beside her for several hours; and whenever she began to pant, I tried to slake her thirst with a dropper full of water to quiet her for a while. Finally I made the appointment with my vet.

My son Alan has been wonderful. He is here only in Oregon until tomorrow morning, but he gave me so much love and reassurance, and when my will weakened, he reminded me that the kindest thing was to let her go. He drove me and Maggie the clinic and remained with me for as long as I needed to be with my sweetest little girl and look into her eyes for the last time. Then he took Geordie out of the crate and brought her to the table to sniff her perfume and to say his own good-bye.

After I had no tears left-- for then, Alan took me out for dinner. I don't know what I would have done without him. He called his brother, Noah, to tell him that his Maggie-who years ago had played soccer with him-was gone.

("She's better than us," commented one teammate a short twelve or thirteen years ago.) And she was!

Later Noah called me from the road, crying while driving east en route to North Carolina and already crossing Nebraska. I urged him not to drive through his tears, and he agreed to pull over to the next exit until he could regain his composure. After all, Maggie was essentially his dog-a gift for his tenth birthday. Noah is now 24.

"I want a dog to tell my problems to," he said a mere fourteen years ago. How interesting that he is continuing his education to become a therapist! I am so fortunate to have two wonderful sons to comfort me. My vet was also kind and compassionate by giving me all the time and support I needed. On the wall across from me I read from a framed cross-stitch:

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.

I must have read these words four or five times.

I'm eternally grateful to Peggy Appel who lovingly insisted in giving me and Maggie only the best. Her soul departed with her body wrapped in a well-worn quilt, a precious gift from Barb Schuster, that will remain with her. She will never get the chance to wear out the second quilt; this brings me such sadness.

Maggie has the sweetest little nose- petite, feminine and black but shaped like the front of a sleigh bell-- so perfect that only God could have made it. She gave me fourteen plus years of loyalty, comfort when I needed it, and so much more. I am reminded that we are only our dogs' stewards; we only think that we are their owners.

I will always love Joywood's Maggie Simpson, CD, CDX, CGC, who graced this earth from May 16, 1994 to August 8, 2008.

From The Little Prince:

"And at night you will look up at the stars. Where I live everything is so small that I cannot show you where my star is to be found. It is better, like that. My star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so you will love to watch all the stars in the heavens... they will all be your friends. . .

"In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night... you-- only you-- will have stars that can laugh!"

One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets oneself be tamed...

Love,

Jill and Geordie

"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux." -- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

(It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.)

First posted as email on November 4, 2008.

The Forever Muse-Boy Who is My Geordie

He never asked for directions, and he only followed them when they were his idea. In that respect, Geordie was a typical male. In other ways, he was anything but typical.

On Monday, Geordie awoke in the middle of the night and told me something I never wanted to hear. It was a plaintive cry, both strange and haunting. His pleading eyes seared straight into my soul in that timelessness. I held his sweet and beautiful head in my hands, petting him and promising him that, difficult as it would be, I would let him go. His love was my refuge; his loyalty, my shelter.

In the morning, he refused food and water. He and I chose to complete this journey alone.

His wise sister, Maggie, taught me only a few short months ago, that there is a tipping point, a pivot in a moment when your beloved requests an action that will shatter your heart.

I called the clinic where his favorite vet worked. She had been off for the day but honored my special request-- and we met to facilitate the painful goodbye. She would bid him her own goodbye.

Renée first met his litter of three boys and one girl when they were six weeks old. She commented that theirs was one of the most beautiful she had ever seen. (The three boys would all become champions.) Geordie was always ecstatic to see her, even if there was no “exciting adventure” in store—as in a breeding. At each visit, she gently told him what a good boy he was.

I needed to return to this exceptional woman to seal that circle of a lifetime of love. To Renée I will always remember the kindness, compassion, and love she gave both of us. When she tranquilized him, I wanted to hold my peaceful dog-child forever; but I had to free his spirit from the shell that was his physical manifestation. I sniffed the wonderful aroma of his feet for the last time. After he was gone, it took six or seven false starts before I could leave the room.

As was with Maggie, I wrapped Geordie in the quilt that Barb Schuster made for him many years ago. There was a bee—he ate those like candy, a tree—he growled at trees whenever he could, a skunk—for the time he was sent after a rat that under my friend’s feed shed that turned out to be a skunk, and a wedge of Mozzarella cheese-- one of the more innocuous things he stole and ate. I noticed—for the first time, a little red heart at the bottom of the quilt.

Over the years, and even as a puppy, a sleeping Geordie could be as vocal as he was when awake. When his cries told me it was sad dream, I could soothe him-- and myself-- with reassuring words and the gentle stroking of his black-masked head and that wondrous gray spectrum of fur—with an undercoat as soft and thick and fair as a cumulus cloud might feel if you could touch one. Then he would awaken and cross off whatever activities he had on his to-do list.

More often he’d growl in his slumber. A rat? A badger? A gopher? I’d wonder about those dreams, too. All I could do was smile and savor the moment. I knew he enjoyed them too, so I’d leave him alone and laugh a joyful quiet laugh. After all, Geordie was an Earthdog and a true bolter, as a Cairn terrier was made to be.

He had not barked for over a month, and I was afraid I’d forget that sound. Maggie’s mellifluous voice shimmered with overtones, and she barked till the very end. Geordie’s was confident, percussive, rhythmic with a deepness that defied his size.

Two weeks ago, he came back to me and filled me with a bliss and gratitude I had not felt for a long time. He had been slowly emerging from the nightmare that had fallen upon us so suddenly several weeks before. But on that magical Wednesday, Geordie was Geordie again, wagging the tail that when you scratched the front of it made him quiver and vocalize in that low, appreciative grrrrrrrrrrrr. He sat and waved, one of his most endearing “tricks,” and his attentive eyes again told me that, yes, he would always adore me. That day he sat and waved for a toothsome morsel We walked around the block and he again lifted his leg high in answer to the larger dogs whose courage could never exceed his. Then he began to fade again.

Geordie was my muse. He inspired me—and at times he would horrify me and defy “death by chocolate” or the evil Xylitol. There was something invincible about that dog. There still is.

I never did catch that picture of him lying between the couch and the sunny window, on his back, large teeth exposed—like an exhibit at New York’s Museum of Natural History. . .

Whenever I’d shower, he wait till I emerged reminding me of one of those bathroom attendants whose eyes would inquire, “May I offer you a towel?” Geordie followed me everywhere. Never a lapdog, he would sit—contented—at my feet.

Many of you know about his antics. There were so many more. Fairly recently, a beautiful young woman named Janell was terrified of him. She thought he was chasing her and on the attack. It turns out that she misunderstood. He was not chasing her; he was merely pursuing a plate of broccoli that she was carrying to her room to eat. . .

It was raining outside. It is raining inside. At just 13, he left me way too soon.

CH. Joywood’s Geordie for MagaDog, CD, ME, CGC

August 7, 1995 – November 4, 2008

Love,

Jill

“And when I die

And when I’m dead and gone,

There’ll be one child born

And a world to carry on. . .”

 Laura Nyro

Back After a Long Absence

2007-11-09T20:17:00.000-08:00

Summer turned to fall-- with that exhilarating chill in the air. As the temperature dropped into the low 70s and high 60s, Geordie and Maggie became friskier. They're really not warm-weather dogs. I am not sure I'm a warm-weather organism either. Time passes and this blog lies barren. Other things have kept me away, mostly a descent into depression. But I'm back for now and trying-- with a little prodding from my Cairn terrier duo, who will not be ignored. . . Thank goodness for them, my lifelines. Even in the profundity of the hell called depression, I could not deny them their walks; and they forced me to do something good for myself.

It's only early November, but today was the first day that felt like winter. Most of the leaves have surrendered to the ground and they're in bags now, although there are plenty of oak leaves along the curbs of our neighborhood. Maggie likes to cavort in those. Geordie will pee on them, but then again, he pees on most things. . .

Today the leaves had that look of shiny varnish, and I wore a coat and double layers of clothes. Maggie and Geordie had their double coats and I saw some virtue in my sloth. They're in dire need of grooming-- especially Geordie whose undercoat is as thick as batting.

I allowed myself to go at their pace and mostly didn't have to cajole them from their explorations. I believe that the boring neighborhood is new to them each time we walk about. But one thing is familiar. About half a block away, I unleash Maggie and she soars toward the house and scratches the door. In we go, I unbundle, and assault them unawares with the Dremel tool. Their nails are slightly cold and wet, so it's not so bad. They forgive me when I dole out a particularly generous handful of treats.

It has been dark for hours now. Geordie is sprawled on the carpet. Maggie is comfortably slumbering on the futon next to the chair in which I sit. They've eaten and are battening down the metaphorical hatches.

As for me-- and the late Robert Frost-- "I have promises to keep. . . and miles to go before I sleep."

Jill, Mag, Geord

"Now We Are Six-Times-Two" For Geordie on His 12th Birthday

2007-08-07T13:04:00.001-07:00

I had the privilege of first meeting Geordie, a little cashew-shaped creature among his Cairnish litter mates-- two brothers and a sister, on their actual birthday, August 7, 1995. I didn't zero in on him because it was yet to be determined which of the three boys would be ours.However, as time passed, I recall that he was the reserved one--though hardly passive. I suspect that he may have grown up to be the exhibitionist of the trio but do not know for sure. Never as flashy in the show ring as his two brothers, Haggis and Ollie, he would much later discover unconventional, captivating, and even creative ways to express himself.

Before long, the litter developed and became ambulatory. You could watch Geordie's two brothers and sister cavort while Geordie, the smallest of the boys and the gray brindle one-- the others were red brindle and wheaten--quietly masticated a stray piece of rawhide, way off to the side at the periphery of any camera shot. I have the video to prove it, too! I made a passing mental note that this puppy had something almost feral about him. He was easy on the eyes, a perfect (to me) balanced little critter with a devil/sweet expression. I did not allow myself to get attached.

We brought him home for our family and for Maggie-- so we thought. But he would become a bratty little brother. They truly love each other but in a somewhat perverse way. He was certainly a little demon then. . .

Geord's First Halloween

. . . and remains so now.

At first I wondered if Geordie offered as much cerebral wattage as some other Cairns. For one thing, whenever he followed me into the bathroom-- which was all the time-- he appeared to need me or Maggie to open the door in order for him exit. When a potential "intruder" such as Carole, our mail carrier or Mike, the UPS guy, or a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses rapped on the door, he'd want to investigate: you could never be sure. So at his demand, Maggie would return to the bathroom and dutifully drag the door open by the spring at its base, let him out first, and she would follow.

This went on for about three years until the time his barks went unheeded for several minutes. When Maggie did not come to his succor, his impatience caused a little mental lapse and his drive got the better of him, so he dragged open the door as though he'd been doing it all along. As well he may have.! In any case, I had the distinct impression that he had not really wanted to blow his cover. He has given up this charade but tried several other ploys. Once after unzipping my purse and stealing a bag of treats that lay to his right, his face protested, "Wait! How the hell did these treats get here?" Now I believe that it was he who considered me the mental midget all that time.

From there he graduated to extricating himself from his collapsible crate (zipper again) and then by flipping the latch on his crate, the little Houdini!

Geordie's deadbeat father to about forty children. By now he's probably got great great great great great grandkids. He's invariably gentle and solicitous with puppies-- that is-- until the males start manufacturing noticeable quantities of testosterone. However, if they're neutered, all can be well and he can remain a nurturing role model. He once "modeled adult manhood" to his son Tarry by taking on The Subject of Cats, even though Tarry had always coexisted in peace with them since puppyhood. Geordie felt compelled to convey his Newtonian view of the feline species. A cat at rest is not a cat. Might as well be a fire hydrant. A cat in motion is to be pursued! (It's the law!)

Once Geordie risked the reprimand of Tarry's very bold cat, who swiped his right eye as he leaped on to (Tarry's person) Bette's computer desk for a mano-a-mano con el gatto. The brave cat drew blood. Another friend grabbed one of two medicines Tarry had been prescribed for a recently scratched cornea. She assumed these were simply to soothe. My squeamishness prompted her to shoo me from the room so that she could minister to him.

Into Geordie's-- superficially so, it turns out-- bleeding eye, she administered atropine, a derivative of "belladonna"-- stuff Nineteenth Century women used to dilate their eyes in order to achieve a seductive look.

Well, Geordie looked no more "seductive" than usual that evening; but the next morning, he looked downright weird. In the case of canines-- unlike in humans-- you don't get the dark mysterious look, but dilated pupils revealing the deep blue color of Crater Lake on a cloudless day. I had the drops and an appointment to visit the vet.

Our veterinarian Dr. Ferro's detective work bore out that one should never use medicine prescribed for another dog. I showed him the drops I brought with me and he remarked, "Well, these shouldn't have caused this reaction unless someone laced them with atropine. . ." A quick phone call to the friend confirmed that it was not drops but ointment that went into Geordie's eye. Mystery solved, but he looked pretty weird for the week it took to process out. When I called the canine ophthalmologist's office, the technician just laughed her head off and I kept him out of the sun.

I could go on for ages with Geordie stories, and he has been my muse. It's always something. Someone left the gate open-- a freaky fluke. It takes me two hours and a gloating Maggie to clue me in. I panic. I call Larry, who was the guilty party. I drive around. I ask everyone. Finally we find him in a fenced yard a few blocks away. My heart slips down through my throat back ti its rightful place when someone-- I've been knocking on doors for hours-- tells me where he is. Meanwhile, he had been happily trolling the 'hood and making instant friends while I freaked out. Strangers invited him in to share a bit of TV on the couch to watch TV. ("Strangers are just friends waiting to be made." ), slake his thirst from a pet's water dish, or select dainty mouthfuls of "bonbons" from the cat's food bowl. . . "Anything for attention" is Geordie modus operandi.

Birthday Bone,
courtesy of Cindi Marshall
"Buffalo bone, wontcha come out tonight?"

So now Geordie is twelve years old today. . .

Jewish Cairn Terrier?
No Scottish Jews? See Cairn Terrier of the Hebraic persuasion! Converts are often the most enthusiastic of all. Huge assortment here. (He still doesn't know about the BRIS!)
Next year-- a Bark Mitzvah? Who knows?

Geordie the entertainer.
Geordie the Earthdog.
Geordie the Workingman's Cairn.
Geordie the pious. . .
Geordie the observer.
Geordie the plotter.
Geordie the trickster.
Geordie the assertive.
Geordie the "stage dad."
Geordie the outrageous.
Geordie the grateful member of the Nielson family.
Geordie who fancies himself the sun in his solar system.
Geordie, the Lothario. . .

He's the outrageous foil to the serenity of Maggie, who's the more practical of the two. Maggie plays the angel because she is a good sport. Geordie thinks the devil's role is more fun, even if it is typecasting.

CH. Joywood's Geordie for MagaDog, CD, ME, CGC
Today at Age 12.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Geord-an. . .

Jill and Mag

"Gorge"ous Cairn Terrier
It's the Bridge of the Gods that crosses the Columbia River from Oregon to Washington. Or is it the Bridge of the Dogs? Prone Cairn terrier insists so.

(to be continued. . .)

"Go East, Young Dogs"

2007-06-19T21:12:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-19T09:55:00.001-07:00

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)

2007-06-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-06-16T20:33:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-06-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

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 Pree 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 our 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 petite 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 see the world 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. 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 one-- 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, " he 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 "among." It 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)

2007-06-16T20:28:00.000-07:00

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.”)

2007-06-16T20:26:00.000-07:00

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"

2007-06-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-16T20:21:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-16T20:19:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-06-16T19:03:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-06-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

(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)

2007-06-16T18:59:00.000-07:00

(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

2007-06-16T18:57:00.000-07:00

(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."

Milking the Dog and Other Delights

2007-06-16T18:55:00.000-07:00

(From 01/09/07)

What am I supposed to do with a zillion pictures that Cindi took of Vicki milking the dog?

(Stay tuned! Betcha can't wait!)

Meanwhile, here are four more of Geordie's grandkids:

Snuggly Cairn Terrier Pups
"Fruit-of-the-Vine" Cairn terrier pups bred by Lorin Leith & Otis Holt of Calypso Cairn Terriers in Northern Cal. Proud parents are CH.KinLoch's Capscot Isobel and AmCanCH. KinLoch's Royal Troon, ME.

Visit Holy Terrier Dog Designs and other Cafe Press Shops

Geordie and the Stockholm Syndrome

2007-06-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

(A Classic from "around" New Year's Day 2007)

It most definitely is not January 1, 2007. All kinds of time has passed. We're already more than a week into 2007 and it's been a good month since we've posted here. We're also going to pretend it's really New Year's Day even though it's already January 8th. That is one of the great things about this dog blog. You can pretend it's another time.

Rainfall in Oregon for 2007 has been plentiful so far. Cairn terriers are well suited to the climate-- at least until it changes again. It's unpredictable as hurricanes. The Pacific Northwest has been blown silly by windstorms-- even in the so-called "banana belt rain shadows" such as Lopez Island, birthplace of 17 of Geordie's puppies and home and birthplace to his grandpups (and Maggie's nieces and nephews). Our extended dog family, which includes Bette Shuh and Rudy and Carol Onstad have had some challenges keeping their yards from blowing away.

Power outages occurred all over-- on Whidbey Island where our friends Barb and John Schuster have, for now, homesteaded. They're rethinking their relocation from "balmy" Truckee, CA. Fewer snow caves there and milder weather. Creepy weather up north. Go figure.

Geordie, in the last month has amassed nineteen more grandchildren (to bounce upon his stifle). Four appeared in Sonoma, CA. Then one at the Barclay Hills Animal Clinic in Oregon City. Ten more emerged at the same place by Cesarean, although sadly, two of those did not survive. Nine of the puppies (who are actually current residents of Portland) endured a power outage at the most inopportune time imaginable. Five more grandchildren, after the brouhaha surrounding the last ones had passed, entered the world in Beavercreek, OR. Like the uneventful whelping in Sonoma, these puppies arrived without undue fanfare or drama and within hours and were well on their way to resembling Goodyear blimps. But more on all these puppies later-- especially the eight boys and two girls of the Portland group.

Geordie also sprained his knee, which I doctored, as per Dr. Doug Ferro, DMV with baby aspirin, mandatory crate rest, a cold pack, and some arnica gel applied through layers of plush, ungroomed topcoat and undercoat.

"Ten days of rest," advised Dr. Ferr0, an esteemed member of Maggie and Geordie's medical team. This proved nearly impossible and after about a week of it, I threw in the proverbial towel. Geordie was irrepressible and almost as difficult to entrap as a ferral cat.

I set out to write about Geordie and Maggie and New Year's Eve, so I will.
So December 31 arrived nearly at the end of Geordie's prescribed "bed rest."

Alan and Noah were in town, although their plans did not include us. Alan reunited with some old Oregon friends while Noah and Reiko attended a concert and booked a hotel to avoid the inebriated drivers (or perhaps to prevent themselves from driving inebriatedly). They would converge in front of the TV to watch the debacle that was the Rose Bowl. (Poor Wolverines!) Then Noah and Reiko would have to drive back to Eugene for most of another week of work. Alan would not depart until around 4:50 a.m. for visits to
Washington DC and Philly to visit more people before hunkering down with a half-ton of law books for the final semester of Year Number Two at UMich Law.

Larry, Maggie, Geordie, and I would celebrate-- as much as we ever celebrate-- the advent of 2007 at Paula and Brian's with them, their dogs and cats-- and with Brian's sister Penny and her two Chihuahuas, Amber and "the fair Isabelle," as Geordie would come to regard her.

It was not until we arrived that it occurred to me that these two Chihuahua muchachas were not spayed because Geordie took an immediate shine to Isabelle. Izzy was not in season exactly, but Geordie tends to act as a Geiger Counter when a bitch is within a month of coming into heat. And it appeared that Izzy would soon "be receptive. " Although an unamused Amber warned him off her sister with a snarl or two, Geordie remained undeterred. In fact, he became more determined.

Usually, he swaggers around with this strange lascivious leer on his face. His eyes practically scream, "Would you care to see my etchings?" However given enough time-- usually a good hour, he ceases playing the game. After all, she was not in standing heat and his wishing that she were would not make it so. And it was getting a little old.

We had more or less unanimously decided that New Years Eve 2006 wasn't going to be all about a randy little Cairn terrier with a rather unsettling grin on his face, so in the name of sanity and because a generous amount of crate rest was what the doctor had ordered, I placed Geordie inside his crate where he lay quietly for about three hours. While a fire roared in the fireplace we watched the delightful black comedy, Little Miss Sunshine and even time-delayed less delightful Dick Clark. (Let him retire already and recover in private please. I wish him well, but time marches on. . .) Then there was the game of Scattergories. Everyone except for Paula and I cut bait on that one. Brian might have liked the game better had it not involved using a pen and paper. The bounty of toothsome treats beckoned: Penny's fudge, macadamia nuts that Reiko brought back from Hawaii, Ghirardelli chocolate squares-- including such improbable flavors as Eggnog. (No thanks.)

"Shall I let the little lech out of his crate?" I asked.
"Sure," answered Paula.

I opened the door to Geordie's intermediate-sized Kennel Cab, but he just lay there and stared adoringly into my eyes. He moved not a single muscle to escape. He was all sweetness and cooperation. Was this a defense mechanism? Was his incarceration one of tremendous emotional distress? He clearly loves his captor-- me. Was Geordie suffering from a telescoped form of Stockholm Syndrome?

If only dogs were not afraid to speak!

Happy New Year.
Oh, and of course Maggie was a perfect angel!
Auld Lang Syne and stuff,
Jill, Mag, and Geordie ("Jail is cool.")

Decemberry Days and A Full Moon

2007-06-16T18:52:00.000-07:00

(From 12/09/06)

It appears that all will settle down, much as the leaves the trees have surrendered. This was the week I could have done without.

After a rollicking stroll in the woods very off the beaten path, Maggie, Geordie and I settled into the usual routine. Dinner was chicken and veggies for the two, wolfed down with élan. The day progressed as though on autopilot-- but not without its bits of exhilaration.

I left the house at about six-thirty, after TiVoing my way through Countdown With Keith Olbermann, one of my weekday staples (along with Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert) for a meeting of the Columbia River Cairn Terrier Club in Clackamas, where I couldn't eat because I had to fast for the yearly physical I was dreading that was to occur at ten o'clock the next morning. The meeting ran its course, despite the lack of quorum, and after chatting with Rachel (a young woman with big plans!), I returned home and started my yoga routine with my DVD best friend, Yolanda, from Victoria-- Melbourne I assume-- Australia.

Maggie was a bit listless, panting as she jumped onto the couch. Geordie was uncharacteristically deferential. Odd but easy to ignore.

Larry arrived home at ten-thirty. Geordie greeted him, but Maggie was nowhere to be seen. I called her, semi-panicked, although I knew there was no way she was outside at large.

She was in hiding, something only a stoical Cairn terrier in major discomfort would do. After some deliberation, we took her to the emergency clinic. . . it was to be a night with no end

(to be continued later)

UPDATE: It's three weeks later (New Years Day) and $2600 later, too. Turns out that Maggie had an acute hepatic infection-- and has some gallstones. Her temperature rose to a horrifying 106. Long story, but now she is home and back to normal after spending a couple of days as a canine voodoo doll due to so much poking and prodding and biopsies (ruling out the absolute worst). She is on the mend, thank goodness.

Tomorrow we follow up at the Hawthorne Veterinary Clinic with a consultation with Dr. J(udkins) and a little acupuncture and some healing herbs. She's eating normally and back on herCanine Essentials Senior. She is doing well and I have had the pleasure of accompanying her on some solo walks. I will have to explain why Geordie has had to sit out for the last week. (He is not a happy camper but I will explain how he has accepted his fate of R and R. . .)

We are waiting for Maggie's coat to grow back fully on her flanks. She is otherwise yak-like. Barbara Schuster came to the rescue with some fabulous fleece coats for her to model throughout the 'hood.

Jill, Geord, and Mag-on-the-mend

"The Abominable Snow Cairn"

2007-06-16T18:50:00.000-07:00

(From 12/07/06)

It is not as it appears, but it is perhaps the reason why Cairn terriers aren't as popular as some breeds. You might not believe this, but Greg Perry, one of Hattie's humans tells me that this dog is not attacking her kennelmate: she is playing! Having lived with two of these myself, I believe him absolutely.

"The Abominable Snow Cairn"

Clanmarr's Steele Princess, aka Hattie, lives with Greg and Val Perry and rules with iron paw and formidable teeth over all she surveys.

But isn't it fun to fake people out with graphics and text? So around this most classic pose, I have built a new Cafe Press Boutique. Three designs. Click on links for examples of each.

The above. Hattie the Yeti-Cairn in all her toothy splendor. Check out this cuddly throw pillow!
One I call Cairn Terrier Snowjob, which the image sans text. The picture really is worth at least a thousand words
The Hell-Fury Bitch line contains greeting cards and two-sided apparel and suchthat quotes William Cosgrove: "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

Check out this and the other new concoctions at Holy Terrier Dog Designs.

Also be sure to visit Crofters' Dream, which features the dogs of Greg and Val Perry. Besides Kula, RN, Hattie lives with one of Geordie's -- he's a few scrolls down on the "Related Cairn Terriers page"-- grandsons, CH. Cairngorm Coffee Tea or Me, JE aka "Kona."

Jill, Mag, Geord (shaking in their boots)

Running in the Rain Series (A Three-in-One for Thanksgiving Weekend 2006)

2007-06-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

Thankful and. . . Go Ducks!

It's the day after Thanksgiving, and we just got back from a brisk walk, Maggie, Geordie, and I. A relatively dry day although the collage of fallen leaves beneath our feet was glazed with remnants of the Oregon mist has moistened the air for the past few days. The sky is late-afternoon gray as we approach the Winter Solstice.

I avoid facing the crowds on the roads and in the shopping center, preferring instead to treat this day segue way from a Thanksgiving Day feast at our friends' Paula and Brian's house to "relative normalcy." (Doesn't that term have an oxymoronic skew? Just ask my kids. . . )

Dinner was festive and delicious and other dogs were running about-- Louie and Pixie-- the current full-time residents-- and also two Chihuahuas named Amber and Izzy and a large mixed breed named Porter, who was velcroed-almost-to-the-point-of-conjoined to his human "mother" Traci. Paula and I discussed bringing Maggie and Geordie, but we wisely decided that leaving them home was best for all.

1) The dynamics among the canines were interesting, Cairn terrier Louie seemed a bit confounded by the bookend Chihuahuas and felt compelled to assert dominance not only on the other dogs, but also upon any furniture that "could take it like a man" and on an assortment of guests' legs.

2) Traci sat in the kitchen lovingly alternated spoon-feeding both Louie and Porter from a plate heaped high with an assortment of foodstuffs including elaborate fruit and nut dominated Brian-created stuffings, turkey, and other tasties. Both Maggie and Geordie would have loved the indulgence, but:

a) I am a stickler for weight control and retain a general control-

freakishness about what Maggie and Geordie ingest.

b) Geordie does "not share well with others" and he would be the only

one who would get to eat lest he "eat" his competition-- even

gentle Porter who probably weighs about five or six times what

Geordie does.

c) Without a doubt, someone would have offered Maggie a roll and

inquired whether she wanted butter with it. She would have

indicated her preference for eating all the bread and chasing

it down with a stick of butter.

d) Surfaces such as tables and counters and sideboards are no

obstacle for Geordie. They are merely "fun challenges."

"The Look"

and finally. . .

e) Maggie and Geordie would opt out of coming back home with us

after they realized what horrid food misers we were.

Larry and his Best Girl, "Maggedy Ann"

Some good news is that my human sons, Alan and Noah are in from Ann Arbor, MI and Eugene, OR, respectively. Accompanying Noah is his delightful girlfriend, Reiko. Noah and Reiko are University of Oregon Duck alumni, so they're not so thrilled with the game. Neither is Alan, the ever loyal brother and Michigan Wolverine (Law School). We all had Thanksgiving dinner with Paula and Brian. . .

The outcome of the game sucked: Beavers 30, Ducks, 28.

Maggie is giving me that "what next?" stare from the carpet beside me, and Geordie lies on the double-blanketed futon/sofa behind me. Maggie arose and wagged her tail briefly. Perhaps she thinks victuals are forthcoming.

Dinner is raw turkey necks, the Charleston Chew and dentifrice of dog foods. Perfect balance of calcium and protein and plaque attacker in one!

Tomorrow we hit the road en route to Seattle. Alan is running in the marathon on Sunday. The forecast calls for rain mixed with snow. Maggie and Geordie are having a sleepover at Louie and Pixie's until we return to Portland on Sunday. Geordie will get to play with Sweetie the cat, who is among the few felines that can match him as a formidable adversary. Don't let her name deceive. She knows how to taunt him in style.

More later. Also, I will be adding some photos from the weekend, none of which are processed. Today also included, for me, a nice apres-gorge swim at the Oregon City Swimming Pool, and -- of course, the invigorating walk for me and the canids.

Until next time,
Jill, Mag, Geord

All thankful for each other and our family and our friends.

Holiday Cards
Tis the season. . .

Visit Holy Terrier Dog Designs
for your holiday shopping. You don't have to move your but from your computer desk to order online. Saves gas.

Sleetless in Seattle

Obligatory Dog Photo: "Marathon Man" Alan with Geordie

Here I risk publicly embarrassing my firstborn son, Alan Martinson, by telling the world (assuming that anyone reads this) that indeed he finished the Seattle Marathon on Sunday, November 26, 2006. This was the first marathon he had ever attempted.

This unabashed brag has nothing to do with anything *I* accomplished-- unless you count my having given birth to Alan 25 years ago, which was hardly a stroll in the park (bearing perhaps some oblique analogy to running a HALF marathon). So it's kind of a one-degree-of-separation-type brag.

He had a great support team: Larry, me, his most loyal brother Noah and N's wonderful girlfriend, Reiko-- and Larry's sister, our sons' valiant Aunt Lynn, who ventured down from Snohomish County where the sky had already deposited two inches of snow on the ground.

Anyway, this video clip shows Alan sprinting across the finish line wearing shorts, a cap, and a blue long-sleeved shirt from two camera angles. He exceeded his goal by about 22 minutes and was within 13 of qualifying for the Boston Marathon-- not bad for a neophyte. It worked out to roughly a 7:44.65648854961836 minute mile.

CHRONOLOGY. . .

Northbound
We left Maggie and Geordie with their buddies Pixie and Louie at the Resort at Rue (NE) Russell. Noah drove Reiko's car (the only one with Hawaiian license plates for miles). Alan sat in front. I was flanked by Reiko and Larry, who busily studied the lay of the land of the Seattle Marathon. I read a copy of Mad Magazine Larry had received as a birthday present from his son, Willie, who currently lives on Kauai. Reiks dozed off a bit. Coffee at Dupont. And that was in addition to two bottles of water I'd drunk until the sheer unbearableness of it forced us to stop at a rest area near Olympia. (Rarely do I get to a place where I literally have to waddle to the lavatory to prevent leakage.)

We arrived in chilly Seattle and parked in a lot across the street from the Marathon's official check-in hotel. Alan picked up his bag 'o goodies, signed up, and took a quick survey of the vendors with the others. I toured the booths on my own, picking up samples of Gu and energy bars, etc. that Alan might need. Even the mother of an adult son has this persistent compulsion to make sure he gets enough to eat, and I don't see that tendency abating any time soon.

Next we headed to the Holiday Inn. Reiks and No would share Alan's room; Larry and I were two doors down. After an interlude, we headed toward a very carb-y dinner at Buca di Beppo, a popular restaurant with walls generously festooned with kitchy Vatican and bizarre parochial school ephemera. An Italian-themed pop song loop offered Doris Day singing "Que Sera, Sera" at least five times during the course of our meal mixed in with smatterings of the the song stylings of the ever-likeable Perry Como, the legendary Tony Bennett, and others. Generous portions of Spaghetti Marinara and Linguine Frutti Di Mare and bread and artichoke spinach dip and olive oil nourished our favorite runner and the rest of us. I probably added about a kilo of fat to my own body.

After the brrrrrrrrrr-acing walk several blocks to the hotel for the night, I checked my email on Larry's laptop. Yes, I am that compulsive. I showered and dried my hair to avoid having it freeze and break off as we rushed to the Space Needle early Sunday morning. Larry and I settled in. After reading a few chapters of a mildly interesting but very weird book to Larry's softish rhythmic snoring, I dropped off to sleep.

It wasn't so bad that Alan et al. had banished us to a different room. We missed the GOOD LUCK text messages blasting from Alan's cell phone that Noah blamed on Reiko's phone since both she and Alan have similar Verizon ringtones. However, someone dialed our room at 12:45 am. Wrong number. Great timing.

We awoke, washed, and dressed. I arranged just about every garment I'd brought along on my body. I looked and probably felt like the StayPuft Marshmallow (wo)Man-- only more rotund. We drank some Tahitian Noni Juice® and headed down the hall, where a groggy Reiko opened the door.

Revived Reiko extracts Noah from the hotel room.

Larry dropped us off to walk a couple of blocks to the starting area. His plan was to park the car, meet his sister and head back for the start of the race. We'd converge after the start at the base of the S. Noodle. Bundled up and when outside touched by a bit of falling snow flurries and then some frigid rain, we were ready to go. Alan was in good spirits and up for the challenge. Poor Reiko realized that leaving socks in her bag instead of putting them on her feet was probably not the best idea. So after leaving Alan to start the race, in semi-desperation we headed for the (closed) gift shop at the Space Needle to buy some.

As the runners spilled from the starting gate, I flashed my camera desperately hoping to snag a picture of Alan heading out. No such luck. Meanwhile, the three of us met up with Lynn and Larry and headed to the car, where Reiko would retrieve some socks from the trunk, and we'd drive down for a breakfast at Pike Street Market. Noah and Reiko would go their own way until we met at the finish line.

Here's Alan at about Mile 24.

We rushed back to the Space Needle ((Larry parked close by and caught up) only to discover that Alan had finished the race at least fifteen minutes before Lynn and I arrived the stadium. Reiko and Noah, too, had missed the finale.

Somewhere in the rain. . .

"It's a Wrap"
Alan Space-Blanketed at the Space Needle w/ Noah, ever supportive brother.

After some pizza and a nice calorie-laden microbrew stout--the kind that you could stand a piece of rebar in-- for "our hero, " we headed south to Portland. He has an open invitation to take some of my body fat. We left town before three o'clock just as light snowflakes started to dot the windshield. We had missed the worst of the downpours and snowstorms.

During the race the weather was cold, at times snowing, and raining-- hardly an easy race to run, what with an incline that was "worse than stairs." Next day, he was headed back to Ann Arbor to continue his studies at University of Michigan Law. What a trouper!

John, Alan's dad, stopped at the house to shuttle him to the Portland Airport a few minutes before noon on Monday. Shortly afterwards, I would go for my swim. The thought of my poor son sitting cramped in the incredible shrinking airplane cabin. . . after running 26.2 miles persisted through the first few laps I swam.

The dusting of snow that had landed on Oregon City's hilltop in the morning had long disappeared. I'd walk Maggie and Geordie briefly through the foggy neighborhood. It was just the three of us again. Larry was back at the radio station. Routine had set in once again and after unleashing them and after Maggie nudged the front door open, I closed it and embarked my own pathetically wimpy set of balance ball exercises.

Jill. . . figuratively flanked by her most cherished Mag and Geord.

Resort on Rue (NE) Russell

(The following took place during our trip to Seattle for Alan's Very First Marathon.)

It was as if Paula were my "dog-children's" elementary school teacher and I was conferring with her about Maggie and Geordie's social development and academic performance. Confident that each test easily in the Talented and Gifted range, still I feared that the gist of Geordie's behaviour report would be in the could-do-better-if-tried-harder wild child category.

Kismet has bestowed upon me the role of "parent" of the canine equivalent of the class clown. He's the one who's as charming as he is disruptive, the one who has the teacher laughing, too, in spite of herself. But not until our Sunday evening return would I receive the full progress report.

The motivation for my Saturday night phone call to Brian and Paula from Seattle arose from my concern for their welfare as well as for that of all the denizens (feline, especially) of their home cum B & B. At the time I called, Brian, Paula, Maggie, Pixie, Louie and Geordie were in bed or on the bed--depending upon the dog-- watching a show about dinosaurs and that is how they first learned of Geordie's lifelong interest in paleontology.

SUNDAY, SEATTLE. . . after the race.
We are enjoying two large pizzas after Alan's marathon finish when I check in with Paula again. Their house is still standing. Maggie and Geordie lapped up their morning quaff of Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials Senior. Every creature is still breathing. But the stories must wait until I arrive to hear them all.

After a surprisingly uncomplicated drive home to Oregon City, Noah and Reiko, who had to head home to Eugene for a good night's sleep. Larry unwinds after having driven for more than three hours. Alan basks in his glory, looks forward to a soothing bath, and prepares for his return trip to Ann Arbor and fat law books.

After barely catching my breath, I get into my car and head back to Northeast Portland. Paula answers the door. She's the only human there because Brian and his daughter, Miranda, caught a movie and were probably following it with dinner.

HOW IT WENT (transposed into present tense)

This is partly Paula's report, partly my interpretation, and I am not sure about the exact chronology. . .

Averted Cat-tastrophes

Background information: Both resident cats, Mr. Jinx and Sweetie fit the Geordie/Newtonian definition of cat-inertia: a cat in motion is, in fact, a cat and worth pursuing. However, a cat at rest is a mere landmark (i.e. something upon which to hike one's leg and mark for later consideration).

1) Mr. Jinx is the alpha tomcat, black as onyx. Too tempting, thinks Geordie, maybe even a formidable adversary. Paula reads his mind, observes his body language, interprets his ambiguous vocalizations.

Geordie is in solitary confinement. For his own good, insists Paula.

2) Round Two: Reveille=Geordie and Mr. Jinx at it again-- G. thinks the name fits the cat well. Fur flies.

Geordie returns to solitary. (For his own good.)

3) Geordie contemplates mixing it up with Sweetie. Bad idea.

Time out. Alone. In his crate. For his own good.

Brian's son, Shawn and his girlfriend Traci stop by with Porter, the meekest large dog ever.
This elicits a growlish greeting from Geordie, the ambiguity of which earn him yet another solitary stint.

(In his crate. For his own good.)

By canine consensus, Pixie is 100% hot babe & proverbial queen of all she surveys & she who must be obeyed & revered. She's in charge and is only one able to make Geordie toe the line. Unfortunately she can only be one place at a time and is unable to save him from himself.

Maggie, usually the perfect guest forgets her manners. She dabbles in macrobiotics after Miranda leaves some Chinese food within her reach. Uninvited, she tries a few mouthfuls of rice but ignores the chow mein. Miranda and Maggie mesh anyhow. Both are gentle souls.

Geordie amuses Miranda by modeling his array of Barb Schuster-designed cummerbunds. Barb, Edith Head to the canine set, worked with fabric patterns that included sushi, Canadian, and Judaica motifs. No need for stealth marking when you've got a Poise Pad-lined fashion statement!

Louie acts noticeably relieved that things are somewhat back to normal. He knows his kind-- and these two extra Cairns are okay with him.

He is able to back off of his holiday hump-fest of human legs and the Chihuahua muchachas from Thanksgiving that drive him insane with their zany antics.

Maggie is a perfect foil to her brother. They're the perfect good cop/bad cop duo. Exploiting this to the max at home. Maggie often feigns outrage and gloats as Geordie receives reprimands. It's worth the alpha rolls and the ablutions from her bratty brother. She readies herself for the sympathetic pets and maledictions directed toward Geordie. Maggie spends precious little involutary confinement in her crate.

Geordie wants to go through the side door leading to the garage. No, it's not the bag of cat food that tempts him. It's the vermin vagabonds that pass through the walls. Maggie hunts intently but less excitedly than her brother. Louie is clueless about this game but not about the squirrels that walk the tightrope of power lines above the yard. Although he usually appears to register on the negative scale of predatory propensities, this pursuit perks him up.

Surely there are squirrels in dog heaven, but undoubtedly there are no dogs in squirrel heaven-- or if there are, the roles are reversed.

Geordie is high maintenance, but everyone, excluding the cats, finds him an engaging comedian. Imagine Robin Williams as a guest in your house for a whole day.

Paula insists wryly, "A good time was had by all."

I have no idea what we'd have done without The Resort on Rue (NE) Russell. The innkeepers ensured that their guests felt welcome and included-- five-star accommodation just a micron short of the perfection of a Godiva chocolate on their pillow.

Maggie and Geordie were in no rush to leave these friends who have become family. I thanked Paula and The Trolls eagerly lept into the car because they were hungry and luscious green tripe awaited them at home.

Not so fast! A stop at Freddy's for milk, bread, some arnica creme for Alan's aching muscles-- and an impulse buy of satsumas. I'd have to prevent an overzealous Geordie from helping himself to the fruit before it was time for dessert.

On my "to-do" list: write Pope to propose pre-death canonization of Paula and Brian for having the patience of saints!

Need some unique gifts for fellow dog lovers?
Shop Holy Terrier Designs

Snowy Cairn Pursuit Mug
(How does a nice mug of hot cocoa sound?)

Untying the Gordian Knot and Then a Walk. . .

2007-06-16T18:40:00.000-07:00

(From 11/20/06)

This past week has been a progression of practical cul-de-sacs. Or one big Gordian Knot. I work on a project for an hour or so and then hit a dead end. So I turn around and try something else. After this happens a few too many times, I seek any kind of distraction to drag my weary mind away from the unfinishable task-at-hand. Everything I touch turns to mold.

Notices arrive in the mail warning me to straighten up affairs-- financial and logistical-- I've had no idea were so out of kilter: packages mailed and delivered by mistake, important phone calls recorded on my answering machine during the fifteen minutes I'd stepped out the door, and malfunctioning Web links causing my computer to crash.

Today every phone conversation suffered the intrusion of canine vocalise-- Maggie's polyphonic overtone-textured (sultry) bark predominated.

Geordie chose a shorter Fred Astaire-sized midrange tune, similar to the classic "Night and Day" which Cole Porter composed for the vocally limited actor for The Gay Divorcee, in case anyone who reads this gives a rip. . .

Only in retrospect can I think of this in terms of music. At the time, it reminded-- and not pleasantly-- of two toddlers vying with anyone who would usurp their mother's undivided attention. My only choice was to apologize to the caller and leave the room. The farther away from the kitchen the better.

My own kids never got away with what these canids do. Dogs are infinitely better at playing dumb than children. But then again, it's not as if I'm preparing Maggie and Geordie to live on their own either.

"Can't you train them not to do this?" asks Larry, irritated.

Apparently not. Certainly I have tried. By teaching Maggie, the more serious student of the two, to bark on cue, I have occasionally successfully commanded her to be quiet. The results are uneven.

For two weeks, I was able to silence Geordie by commanding him to bark. This really appealed to his rebellious streak. I would shout, "Speak" and mum was the word. Then, as was inevitable, he caught onto the ruse and reassumed his "evil ways."

I tried to do something novel: tidy up the house. Another cul-de-sac. And once I'm pretty deep into it, it's a Gordian Knot and I give up. Seems I cannot get past my chronic lack of organization, which prevents me from doing a profound cleaning of the house. (Why should I care anyway? It always finds a way to mess itself up again anyway.)

Saturday was Larry's birthday, and he received a cake from JaCiva's, Portland purveyors of ultra-rich confections and cakes. We share the evening and Indian food with some friends followed by the rich cake, the leftovers of which Larry polished off without delay.

Today, which is a Monday, Geordie-- I presume-- fished the chocolate-scented box out of the recycling bin to savor the bits or chocolate-- hardly enough for more than a lick. It ended up in the family room under the footrest that serves as his lair.

But the weather is perfect again and will no doubt cloud over, so off we go to our trail. Geordie easily clears a fallen log that stands eighteen inches high. Maggie tries and slips but persists, lands on the log and jumps off, exultant.

I wish I had brought my camera!

Limbered up, she succeeds on her first attempt as we return from that fork of the trail. She has been "Queen of the Cairn," having scaled a large granite rock, a mini-Everest jutting out and upward. More surefooted than ever!

Geordie, of course, is Air Geord-an again:

A group of boys played atop the steep side at the start of the sale. Geordie navigated his way to the pinnacle, but then it was time to go home.

Maggie jumped into the car first. She couldn't have done this nine months ago before she started taking Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials.

I know that tomorrow is bound to be overcast and that a perfunctory walk around the 'hood will end up on the docket.

Holy Terrier Dogs Cairn Wall Calendar
$19.99 $15.99

Holy Terrier Dogs Wall Calendar
$19.99 $15.99

and several other designs!

Until we next check in,
Jill, Mag, Geord

Meet Kylie, #1 Ranked Cairn Terrier.

2007-06-16T18:38:00.001-07:00

(From 11/15/06)

AmCan CH. Ashwood Kendric's American Idol-- aka--"Kylie" has had her share of accolades. Not only did she take the Cairn Terrier Best of Breed at Westminster Kennel Club's ultra-prestigious all-champion show in February 2006, she's also racked up enough points (one point for each dog she's beaten) to garner an invitation to January Eukanuba National for the third time in so many years. This status has guaranteed her a place in the entry for Westminster 2007.

In October, at the annual All-Terrier Specialty Show in Montgomery County, PA, Kylie added a Best in Specialty Show-- this one bigger than the several others she's managed to snag-- to her resume. This is the "mother of all terrier specialty shows" attracting the best dogs from all over the country and many from all over the world.

AmCanCH Ashwood Kenric's American Idol ("Kylie") handled by co-breeder/co-owner
at the 2006 Cairn Terrier Club of America's National Specialty

Kylie's success is hardly random. She's a spirited girl with a lovely head, beautiful movement and the vivacity and attitude that is harder to come by in a bitch (female) than in a dog. Males, in general, tend to exhibit more "showiness" than bitches.

Of significance is that her maternal grandsire is CH. Rose Croft Best Foot Forward, a "phenom" and history-maker in his own right. "Teddy" was bred by Jerrie Wolfe and loved and campaigned to a record-smashing seventeen Best in Show wins by Trish Watson and Mark McDonald (Bizzy B Cairn Terriers) of Campbell, CA.

Kylie-- ranked #1 in the breed in both Breed Points--which many breed purists consider the more flattering of the two categories, the other being Group Placement Points-- where she also leads the pack. Best in Specialty Shows, Terrier Group placements abound, and she has earned a coveted Best in Show in 2006-- the first Cairn terrier bitch to have won a Best in Show since 1996.

This is not a minor feat for a Cairn terrier as the breed is not noted for the elegant "formally attired"-- okay-- GROOMED appearance of other members of the Terrier Group. If groomed to standard, they're a bit scruffy-- a sort of "tidied dishevelment" describes it, so even Group placements aren't as common for Cairn terriers than they are for the more every-hair-in-place terrier breeds such as Wire Fox Terriers or Norwich or Norfolk Terriers.

Playful Norfolk Terrier Puppy

Judy Sheer of Huntington, NY and Joseph Vernuccio (Ashwood Cairn Terriers) of Stratford, CT co-bred and co-own Kylie. Joe has been with her every step of the way-- from whelping box to The Big Show as groomer, owner/handler, and "housemate."

Four-and-a-half-year-old Kylie will likely bring her "specials" show career to a close while this charismatic little bitch is still ridin' high with enough vim and vigor for the pitter patter of little paws of prospective motherhood.

Top Winning Cairn Terrier Girl
AmCan CH. Ashwood Kenric's American Idol is a 2006 Best in Show and National Specialty winner.

Maggie, Geordie and Jill-- taking a day off from our "adventures." Or at least from writing about them.

A Walk on the Wet Side/ My-Dog-Blog Down for Maintenance

2007-06-16T18:34:00.000-07:00

(First Posted 11/06/06 and 11/14/06)

A Walk on the Wet Side. . .

After stepping out on the dogs, warm and snug in the house, I drove to the pool, suited up, swam one lap, and was promptly told to get out of the water because the power was out and the necessary illumination and access to 911 was unavailable. One of us would surely collapse of heart failure or asphyxiate on the chlorine that was not adequately circulating. They were taking no chances since some of us resemble middle-aged manatees in Speedos.

The wind picked up but not quite enough to lift us all away. It was cold, wet, dark--and exhilarating-- for Maggie and Geordie-- if not for me. They simply shook off their waterproof coats and were as good as if they'd been in the dryer for a full cycle and then some for fluff's sake.

As for me, I doffed my wet clothes, pathetic human that I am. . .

Jill, Geord, Mag

My-Dog-Blog Down For Maintenance. And Me, Too. (Rambling.)

It was the first clear day in weeks. The sky did not wag a grey cloudy finger and threaten to rain. Finally, the two uber-psyched Cairn terriers and I hopped-- they hopped; I simply placed my derriere on the seat and buckled up-- into the car to drive them to their beloved Canemah Cemetery Trail for a casual walk/cavort/run/revel. It had been a week since it even seemed possible to venture there sans waders or fins and goggles.

A full-fledged November day with fallen leaves from deciduous trees in all shades implying all the colors of the spectrum beckoned. The cool tingle in our nostrils promised to heighten the experience and fifty-something-degree temperature seemed the season's perfect choice.

So we suited up, jumped into the car in dizzy anticipation of a bracing jaunt.

The car didn't start. I was stuck in PARK and couldn't even jam it out by applying pressure to the brakes. Not even a faint click.

So I sighed, regrouped, and tried assorted other sequences until I gave up, resigned to the fact that we were banished to a rather mundane walk through our minefield of a neighborhood. I broke the news to Maggie and Geordie, as if my words actually made an iota of difference to them.

Geordie wanted to stop at the neighbor's fig tree and see if he could glean a couple of straggler-fruits. We found one and shared it three ways, but found it lacking the sweetness of just two weeks ago. We ate it anyway. No one wanted to chance another; it was time to move on.

I convinced my husband Larry ("Married to the Job") --I more like guilted him to death-- to come home and to assist me in getting the car started. The sun had already begun its descent. First and foremost, I needed to get to the bank. I made short stops-- leaving the car precariously unlocked and running-- and hoped that no one would be desperate enough to steal my pathetic little car. (There are hidden benefits to driving a crummy, non-luxurious, non-Japanese car.)

Finally I returned home only to have locked myself out after having brought in bags of groceries (re-establishing myself to Maggie and Geordie as the best hunter/gatherers EVER).

Alas, I am not omnipotent enough to walk through doors, so I climbed the back fence and squeezed through the dog door enough to reach the lock, managing to get stuck just past my torso. Finally, I wriggled my way out.

It would become clear to me that it was time to prey. After all, Geordie is a legally ordained minister of the Universal Life Church. He even has his own marquee:

and he does pastoral counseling

The dogs would dine on organic greens, including arugula, beet greens, kale and free-range chicken. As for me, the day could barely muster up a measly humble pie.

:-(
Jill, Mag, Geord

Spooky Sweet

2007-06-16T18:32:00.000-07:00

(From 11/04/2006)

I have had this picture of Geordie for about a year. I love its dark, spooky-sweet quality. I also like the depth of expression in his eyes and the softness under what living with him has revealed to me as sheer determination. He is in some ways deeper than Crater Lake. I am obviously biased. I think he's beautiful. I believe that both

Not everyone does. About five years ago, a woman in my obedience class with a "perfect" Golden Retriever and a stick rammed up her proverbial posterior commented to me, "What a mean-looking dog!" Then, a few days later, she added, "If he were my dog, I would have given up on him years ago."

She did go on to earn a CD with her automaton-dog, but so did we. Okay, she scored in the 190's and we-- umm-- qualified and Geordie earned his, as well-- but not as well but he is a COMPANION DOG. No one, of course, specifies what kind, though.

That just made me love him more. Sherie (I doubt she'd read this) will probably not sue me, but she didn't last too long in Dog Obedience Instructor Jim Read's class. Having a sense of humor is sine qua non. Sherie lacked that in spades.

She didn't hate Maggie so much. She mostly ignored her, nose snubbed. We sort of. Mostly, her nose was fixed in a permanent snub.

I was taken aback. (It probably warmed the ****les of Geordie's heart.)

Still, I call this shot:

Cairn Terrier from the Dark Side

From Holy Terrier Dog Designs

Irons in so many fires. At least the canine stomachs are full-- for now. Tripe and organic greens. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Too wet to handle. The deluge outside-- and now the darkness-- makes a fabulous excuse for skipping our daily walkabout. A few trips to the yard through the dog door is all M and G have to look forward to. And maybe a bit of Romaine lettuce to satisfy the palette.

Now it's past "deluge." It's really roaring outside like a mini-tsunami. But we're about five hundred feet above sea level, sort of on the Mt. Ararat of Oregon City.

We're staying in for the night.

Jill, Geord, Mag

A Tribute To Honey Sheperd, Champion for Animals and So Much More

2007-06-16T18:30:00.000-07:00

(First Posted 11/02/06)

I met Honey Sheperd face-to-face only once-- more than a year and a half ago in the parking lot at Fred Meyer with her beloved MinPin, Bambi. She was then living in West Linn with her mother and, of course, Bambi, who, I would find out was her "lifeline," even after she placed her with a family that she trusted would give her dog what she wanted to provide but knew she couldn't.

(Bambi, now a bit "fat and sassy" in her home away from home-- cuddling with a cat, no less! That she is so well-treated gave Honey Sheperd much comfort.)

Through Bambi's Eyes

they live & die in darkness
in pain & sadness they lay
the Angels try to find them
but often lose their way
no one seems to hear them
or even shed a tear
for all their pain & suffering
and death thats always near
life should be more precious
more tender & more kind
for all of God's creatures
deserve a peace of mind
i'd give my soul to save them
to take them far away
from the cruel fate that awaits them
so every day i pray
please God, hear their cries
give them a gentle hand
wipe their tears & calm their fears
till others understand
for everything that breathes
and struggles to survive
derserves a kinder fate
while they're still alive
i cry each night for all of them
the wounded ones who pass
i hope they find a "rainbow"
beyond their looking glass
no more pain or worry
the Angels have found their way
no more tears but hurry!
before they slip away...

BLESS THE BEASTS...
-Honey Sheperd

I never did see Honey Sheperd again, although we exchanged regular emails. These spanned the time she lived in West Linn with her mother and after she finally returned to North Hollywood, which she considered her "spiritual home." I could never match the number of emails she sent me, including the plethora of petitions for animal rights causes, many of which I would sign and forward. Sometimes I'd send her some knowing that she'd take time to sign often adding her heartfelt thoughts to inspire others.

Nor could I match Honey's zeal-- a burning passion really-- to eradicate all animal cruelty from the face of the earth. She believed in the total innocence of God's furry creatures; sadly she also believed that most human beings were monsters.

Still, she considered me one of the "good ones," even though I'd exposed Geordie showdog scene to attain his AKC championship, and I felt fortunate that she trusted me, even though I was human-- and a very flawed human, at that!

I reassured her that he was not offered at public stud to everyone and that I felt personally responsible to every one of his forty-odd offspring-- and that I strove to be a good steward to my chose breed. And she believed me (rightly). Once she sent Maggie and Geordie a $20-bill for treats, which I donated, in her name, to the World Society for the Protection of Animals (WSPA) (I also did not share her penchant for "slasher movies"!)

This was one charity where we could come together. She was an ardent PETA supporter, whereas I think they tend to take things way too far.

I had sent her a link in June to a something TOTALLY over the top ( and not 4 kids!!!!) which made her exclaim (in an email), "and people think I'm WEIRD." Then she broke into a vignette of sorts about a former girlfriend of Weird Al Yankovic. I loved to think I could make her smile, an event that seemed all too rare in her rollercoaster-with-mostly-dips of a life.

She liked another joke I sent:

A man walks into a psychiatrist's office wearing only underwear made of Saran Wrap.
The psychiatrist says, "Well...I can clearly see your nuts.”

which made her laugh and ask, "Where do you find these things? I'm going to forward this to my friends." Apparently, Honey had many.

I would only receive another week and a half worth of posts from her after I sent that joke. A week had passed since I had last heard from her. I thought about it and dismissed it taking for granted that I'd hear from her soon.
I'd come to take her frequent emails for granted. Still I wondered but convinced myself that I'd hear from her soon: she was a survivor, after all. She had pulled through so many emotional and physical storms, I rationalized and waited. I intended on checking in with her soon-- after the craziness of my week subsided.

Instead, I received an email from one of Honey's numerous friends, Kim, another woman who'd met Honey just once but who had kept in touch through their mutual passion for animal rights. Kim sent me an email that sent my head reeling. She wrote me to ask if I knew about a service or about anything else. I responded requesting Kim's phone number and immediately called her. Honey had been found dead in her apartment on October 26. No one knew exactly when she had passed away was what Kim told me.

(Honey in a favorite publicity shot.)

A gifted singer, poet, and an actress, Honey had a role in It Came from Hollywood
(1982) with Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong (her good friend) and the late John Candy and Gilda Radner and a whole slew of others. . . She had small roles in other films, too.

Honey loved animals-- unabashedly and outrageously (to some)-- more than she loved people. After all, no animal had ever hurt her. People, however, had.

Sadly, though, even her fervent love for animals, which was her tenuous hold on life, would not prove enough to keep Honey above the surface. Honey would succumb.

Along with her undying love for animals was her faith. She really believed that after her earthly life ended she would be in a better place.

If it's peace you find in dyin'
Let dyin' time be near. . .

-Laura Nyro from "And When I Die"

Eulogy

I remember when I was young

I remember my mother well

So soft & kind

Even her comforting smell

And all my brothers & sisters

As we lay close together

So safe & warm

But then one day

I was taken away

No time to say "good bye"

You took me to your home

Saw a yard

So I thought I could roam

I only wanted to love you

And for your to love me

But as I grew

And felt close to you

Your true colors I could see

You left me in your yard

Never even gave me a name

You forgot to feed me

Sometimes you beat me

And you locked me to a chain

I was hungry & confused

Unwanted & abused

I could only wonder why?

Chained to a rotting post

Watching the World go by

What did I do to make you so angry?

What did I do to make you so cruel?

If you would only tell me

I'd make it up to you

Don't you know

If ever you were lost in a storm

I would find you & lead you home?

If ever you fell into murky waters

I would swiftly pull you to shore

If you were blind

I would forever guide you

If a stranger neared your home

I would challenge him

And if suddenly you were sent to Battle

I would March proudly beside you

And if you died, I would lay at your side

Till the "Angels" called me too

But now it is too late

I'm afraid I can take no more

I am hungry & cold

I feel deathly old

My heart aches to the core

And now, as I wait to die

There is no one to hear my cries

No tears are shed for me

So I ask your GOD

If just one dog

Could have words for a "Eulogy."

—Honey Sheperd

For Dogs Deserve Better

Honey touched more lives that she will ever know. Rest in peace!

(a favorite picture that she sent me)

Lovingly remembered as "Aunt Honey" by
Maggie and Geordie
and as a dear friend by
Jill

All Saints Day? 2006

2007-06-16T18:29:00.000-07:00

. . . and I wait for the furnace repair person. Maggie and Geordie and I are glued to the house until he or she appears. It could be any time between noon and three. It is already one o'clock.

Geordie is curled up in his leopard-motif bed. Maggie is on her quilt, made by Barb Schuster, who is also responsible for all the Cairn Couture. (Oh, I must update that Terradog sub-site!)

Nun-of-the-Above Cairn Terrier
Sister Mary Margaret ("Maggie" for short), a Cairn Terrier quips, "It's getting to be a habit!" Barb Schuster, "Edith Head" of the k9 set designed these holy terrier threads.

Alas, the dogs' clarion call! The repair person has arrived! I thank Maggie for standing in for the doorbell that is all but obsolete. We chat for a bit, and I confine the dogs to the other side of the barrier. Still they barks. After all, that is where the action is.

Within ten minutes, Ron, the repairman, trudges throught the room and out the door with a little arachnoid-looking gadget (sans several legs) that is a heat sensor of sorts, and within minutes returns with an identical not-blown-out one.

He plugs it in, we exchange a few pleasantries, and presto: we're $239 poorer. The heat is on, and 70 degrees is so oppressive that I turn the thermostat down to 67. I'm used to it. Or maybe 65 with a blanket and warm socks.

Geordie is still leaping. Ron is here for so short a time that the novelty has not expired.

Then we walk through the 'hood before the rains come. The three of us pause to sample the almost-last of the figs in our neighbor's yard (with permission).
Then we come home. I do some pilates, and the Cairns do their yoga, which is pretty much limited to the poses named for their species: Downward Facing Dog
and Upward Facing Dog flawlessy, natch.

Think I'm going to work a little on an essay-- long overdue. Tomorrow I'd make some more designs for Holy Terrier Dogs.

À Demain,

Jill, Manya, Louis Geord-dan

October 2006 "Cairn Compendium"

2007-06-16T18:22:00.000-07:00

He Started It All. . . Chase (10/09/06)

This was Geordie's sire:

Great Cairn Terrier Patriarch!

Ch. Pinetop Paperchase came from Pinetop
Kennels in Scotland to become one of the most
influential sires in the U.S. He was loved
and owned by Jack and Susan DeWitt of
Norwalk, CT.

He is in the pedigree of numerous AKC-titled Champions and Earthdogs. . .One can only imagine what a great Earthdog he would have been had he the opportunity to participate!

Visit Holy Terrier Dog Designs
where he and other terriers find "immortality" on clothing, art prints, housewares, keepsakes, boxes, and more.

With awe and affection,
Jill, Geord, Mag

Lying in the Lap of Luxury

Life is never boring to Rose Croft High Stepping Dax, reports Linda Gensler of San Carlos, CA. With their sons grown up and out of the house, Linda and John have a "daughter" to fill their empty nest.

Not only that, but Dax even has a store named after her, most appropriately and simply called Dax Stores. This online cornucopia of organic bedding-- in silk and cotton, well made and sturdy organic furniture, educational toys, and even cuckoo clocks boasts eclectic quality. Life is never boring there, but even if it seems so or Dax needs to check out, she luxuriates on her very own silk bedding-- which is The Best!

(Ah, and the silk clothing. Geordie himself, curled up on his plain cotton futon, dreams about the silk smoking jacket that he has coveted ever since seeing old clips of Hugh Heffner on some historical pop culture show on Arts and Entertainment. If only. . .)

Bred in the Central Valley of California by longtime Cairn terrier breeder, Jerrie Wolfe of Rose Croft Cairn Terriers, Dax is-- on her mother's side-- a first generation Americairn. Her mother, Mille, was born in Denmark, a wonderful place in Scandinavia, where they feed their guests well while laughing their heads off as you try to pronounce the name of a favorite dessert made of red currants served with cream. Rødgrød med fløde Thank GOD that I can type it in lieu of pronouncing it. I just love the internet!

Dax has been taking Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials, which has made her already-lush coat even more so. (Ignore all the other ads for Tahitian Noni Juice and use the links on this entry. . .)

She loves eating, going for walks, and catching squirrels and rats. A staunch feminist, Dax is independent and a dog-- as opposed to a person-in-a-furry-suit-- and is proud of it. Linda reports that Dax considers herself superior to her humans in all ways. She allows Linda and John to join her in toy-play, but it is she who sets the parameters. They are also Dax's Retrieval Service if a ball somehow ends up under the dining room table.

Only a lap dog when it serves her, Dax loves to travel and is a real trouper. She loves meeting new people, lest the "old ones" become too boring, quips Linda, in so many words. After all, to Dax, ". . .we are slow, ponderous, uncoordinated creatures that cannot keep up with her," Linda Gensler mock-laments . . .

Maggie and Geordie have yet to meet the regal Dax, but they already know that she is their kind of gal.

Best,
Jill, Magda, Georg-en

Cairn Terrier Chillin'
Rose Croft High Stepping Dax of, Cairn Terrier Queen of San Carlos, CA. "What big front feet you have!" I comment to her by way of Linda. Cairn terriers are supposed to have nice big round front feet-- bigger and rounder than their back ones.

Dax is Holy Terrier Dog Design's latest "spokesbitch" and model.

Halloween End-of-Month Reflections

The days have gotten shorter. Almost in total sync with the advent of Standard Time, the exterior temperatures started to drop into appropriate late fall temperatures. Meanwhile, the dogs are doing their darndest to confound me about the time change. They are demanding their dinner an hour earlier because-- like Hawaii, Arizona (except the Navajo Nation), Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, Guam, and American Samoa, Maggie and Geordie have chose not to observe Daylight Savings Time. Or rather, they'd be on Standard Time year-round because dinnertime is always earlier when you "Fall Back."

As luck would have it, our house's furnace decided to quit, and Larry turned on the oven to cut the chill that would pervade the house.

Maggie and Geordie will probably grow visibly more coat in the two days that we will be sans a natural gas-heated environment. I like bundling up in layers and huddling under blankets and making the transition of summer to autumn-winter fare. Tonight it will be clam chowder, and when I do my yoga, I will get warm. Besides, living in a colder atmosphere, you burn more calories. So I have turned off the oven and will argue that the heat radiating from the burner where the soup will simmer is sufficient to prevent the expansion and shrinking of the drywall that would ruin our abode until tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon, the heating repairperson will arrive, fix the problem, and charge an amount of money that will cause my jaw to drop. I am unmechanical, so they can do whatever they want and I wouldn't know the difference.

I have been a busy-beaver (although the mother of an Oregon Duck-alumnus) making some new designs for my Cafe Press shop, Holy Terrier Dog Designs in the form of some new 2007 calendars:

2007 Assorted Original Terrier Calendars!
All new terrier calendars include all-Westies, all-Cairn, the over-the-top "Cairns Gone Wild," and one that shows assorted terriers. Great gifts for the holidays that last year-round.

So it's Halloween. Neither my dogs nor I am dressed in costumes. Few trick-or-treaters bothered to show up, so we're left with candy that doesn't tempt me. It's milk chocolate; I much prefer dark.

Geordie doesn't need an occasion to dress. He'll don pretty much anything just to attract all the attention in his universe. So there is a calendar in his honor:

CAIRNS GONE WILD

Cairns Gone Wild! Vertical Wall Calendar

In honor of Halloween, again we walked among the fallen leaves at the Canemah Cemetery path. Maggie and Geordie cavorted, seemingly energized by the chill in the air. We went early. After all, we didn't want to encounter any Halloween surprises. . .

Boo!
Jill, Magwitch, BoyGeordz

September Song of 2006, Second Verse

2007-06-16T18:17:00.000-07:00

Rain the Size of Mothballs

This afternoon the sky's bladder burst. The cloud dumped buckets of water on Oregon City as the season's schizophrenic weather continued to careen along on its psychotic path.

"Clouds of gray have silver linings
When they're reversed
I found your love, and
That's when the old gray cloud burst"
-Lambert, Hendricks & Ross
(from Cloudburst)

Then down came frozen rain the size of mothballs

that pelted the car in the driveway and produced a hypnotic percussive sound. The swooshing of the rain evoked the sound of the drum brushes they sometimes use in tympanis.

And from the sky
Come the Lord and the lightnin'
-Laura Nyro
(from Stoned Soul Picnic)

A thundrous roar caused Maggie to bark aggressively. This worked well because the noise stopped almost immediately.

Powerful woman, that Maggie.

So how were we supposed to get out to walk? In my indolence, it was just the excuse I needed. I would have gladly sat on my butt and done nothing except read, waste time on the computer, or daydream and be grateful for a roof over my head that does not leak (yet).

Within a quarter of an hour, it was quiet; the rain had subsided and we would gear up for "the minimum"-- a walk around the neighborhood.

I had more nefarious plans, though, for our return. The Dremel tool's battery sat charging in the socket for the planned assault on M and G's nails, lest they become Freddy Krueger-esque. . . I am not a fan of horror movies.

I hate deceiving these two even as I leashed them up fully cognizent that the minute we returned, I'd incarcerate one dog while I sanded down the other's nails. I assuage my guilty feelings by rationalizing that if the nails are cooler and wetter, the friction won't be so unbearable to them-- or to me. That and the avoidance of the nails growing grotequely back into their pads.

We had copped the only twenty minutes of the afternoon when the clouds parted, Red Sea-style, for our benefit and managed to get in the door nanoseconds before the downpour resumed. We were The Chosen Organisms!

I escorted--okay, dragged --Geordie to the crate on leash with Maggie in arms. Sitting on the couch, I applied the grinder to her nails. The process went faster than usual because her resistance was less-than-usual. Only twice did she attempt to cover the paw that was being worked on with the other and turn her head away in horror like a Victorian maiden suffering from "the vapors," whatever the hell "the vapors" are. Then she was free and cavorting in a way that only the catharsis of having it over and done with can bring. And a treat. Whitefish and sweet potato!

Geordie resisted only slightly during his tenure on the "hot seat," but the raw buffness packed into his seventeen pounds provided me with a bit of an upper body workout myself.

Upon release, he did a three-sixty and ran back and forth, amazing me with how well his brakes work in a room that is maybe 150 square feet.

Prompted by the muffled sound of precipitation, I glanced out the window again and sure enough, the rain had resumed. Then the heavens spewed hail the size of Tic-Tacs (but not the shape, as far as I could tell).

Only one day earlier, it had been hot again-- this time without that exhilarating nip of Indian Summer that makes all feel right in the world. The heat doesn't agree with Maggie and Geordie's Scottish blood as much as the chill that winds them up like mechanical toys and causes them to sprint along the burnished hued, maple-leafed paths in for me to enjoy. I am hoping for more of those days and fewer deluges.

After all rain is for Oregon winters-- inappropriate until after Halloween at least.

"And the seasons they go round and round. . ."
-Joni Mitchell

"Ever captive on the carousel of time,"

Jill. Geord.Mag.

Cairn Terrier Puppy Prone
Joywood Geordie's Caper waiting to spring into action. "Caper" is owned and loved by Sandy and Ken Danielson of Portland, OR.

Holy Terrier Dog Designs

L'Shanah Tovah

Happy Jewish New Year. May the Year 5767 it bring peace and renewal to all the people of the world!

Jewish Cairn Terrier?
So you thought there were no such things as Scottish Jews? Cairn Terriers of the Hebraic persuasion? Converts are often the most enthusiastic of all. I still haven't told him about the BRIS!
From Holy Terrier Dog Designs

L'Shanah Tovah,
Jill, Manya, G

"When Your Get Up and Go Has Got Up and Went. . ." (09/24/06)

. . . in the lyrics of Pete Seeger of the great folk group, the Weavers. . .

How do you know
That your youth is all spent?
My Get-up-and-Go
Has "got up and went. ."

Those of you who know me well know how hard it is for me not to correct went to the grammatically correct gone. This song appears on a reunion album recorded shortly before the death of the oldest member of this legendary folk group, Lee Hays who sang some verses in that true unpretentious bass of his.

Wikipedia Trivia: the 1982 documentary The Weavers: Wasn't That a Time inspired the 2003 mocumentary film A Mighty Wind.

During the late 40s and 50s, the Weavers frequented the Greenwich Village coffeehouse that served espresso eons before Starbucks erupted in cities and suburbs everywhere.

Although, their commercial success was interupted by the notorious "blacklisting" by Senator Joseph McCarthy and his gang, the group would re-emerge and later play reunions shows. These inspirational musicians were the precursors of The Kingston Trio and also Peter, Paul & Mary-- and the whole folk movement that followed. (And here ends our lesson on 20th Century American Folk Music.)

You're thinking, "What has this got to do with DOGS?" Right?

Oh, yeah. It's all about AmCanInt'l CH. Topnote Theophilus, CD affectionately known as "Theo" and called "T-Man" by Vicki Havlik, a Cairn terrier breeder. She has lived with him and loved him for more than seventeen years. He didn't exactly have an easy start in life, but the years that followed have more than made up for it.

Theo, once a conformation showman himself, has seen dogs come and go. While with Vicki, he has been a good "nanny" to countless litters, has slept on her bed, and logged literally thousands miles to dog shows, Earthdog tests (at Belden Farms in Turner, OR where Cindi Marshall took these pictures, site of the Oregon Trail's End Earthdog Club's autumn tests.)

Theo's birthday was on July 29th. No one was betting that he would get to see October of 2006, and here he is. Vicki feeds him Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials.
It has literally given him "get up and go." In fact, one afternoon late this spring when he had been off it for two days, I thought that he had finally "got up and went." Twas a freaky experience I'd rather not re-have.

9/24/06

Mortified maybe describes how I felt when I saw him lying--playing possum???-- in his bed. My eyes homed in for evidence that Theo was still with us. . . His chest moved, which meant that he was still breathing! Finally I could resume my own breathing.

I mixed the Noni with some yogurt and spoonfed Theo. He began to eat. (Sigh.) Theo started to rearrange himself on his bed, which I took as a good sign.

When I returned from the bathroom, Theo had already regrouped and stood on all fours strolling (albeit stiffly) along the kitchen floor toward the water bowl.

Since then, Theo has been many places with Vicki. He has stayed with his "Aunt Bette" on Lopez Island. He also made an appearance at the Columbia River Cairn Terrier's match and festivities in July, apparently enjoying every minute of it. And this weekend, he basked in the attention, smells, and the comings and goings of life on Planet Earth(dog).

But in spite of it all I'm able to grin
And think of the places my get up has been.

Auld Lang Syne and all that Jazz,
Jill, Mag, Geord
P.S. Theo just happens to be Maggie's great uncle and her great great uncle-- and Geordie's too!

September Stories

2007-06-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

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.

FEATURED SPECIAL GUEST

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.

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.

September Song and Dance

This was the kitty only he was about half the size he is in this picture. . .

Vinnie is a seventeen-and-a-half year old Sheltie, who's still thriving on
Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials!

Geordie and favorite "cat" print bed

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

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.

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.

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

August Whimsy. . .

2007-06-16T18:03:00.000-07:00

Periodic "Fluff" Piece: Interview With a Diva, Miss Fiona Jones. . .

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.")

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.

"We also work out."

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?

"My Heart Belongs to THIS Daddy"

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!

Even Celebrities Worry!

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.

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

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

PESTO

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

August, is a Cairn Terrier Birthday Month

2007-06-16T17:39:00.000-07:00

Monday's Walk: In Pictures Mostly (08/02/06)

I took a ton of pictures of Maggie and Geordie on Monday during our cemetery trail walk. Then I spent about three hours discarding the truly horrid ones. Walking and taking pictures is challenging, especially so when you have the perfect shot-- and the shutter goes off something fifteen seconds later, and all you get is half of a dog's butt. I spent part of yesterday and a bit of today reducing what I could glean to byte-sized pieces.

Maggie and Geordie have learned a new word: FIG. My former husband, John, an organic farmer, has a bumper crop of them this year and brought me a small flat of them. I adore them, and apparently so do the dogs. So much that in order to get some, they seem to be willing to endure the unspeakable: THEY LET ME GROOM THEM. These two will practically prostitute themselves out for fruit?!?

Yesterday, we revisited the elementary school track but took it sort of "free-style" -- using the asphalt only to reconvene, which added another half mile the one-mile walk we'd have had if we'd stayed on the curved-and-narrowed.

Today, it's heating up, so we did the traditional neighborhood loop. Not so exciting but better than nothing. After all, our backyard is neither large enough nor exciting enough to encourage much cavorting. Besides, Geordie has already transformed it into Craters of the Moon and breaking off the hard hair on his muzzle.

Maggie pauses to consider Maggie onto a scent. Geordie scouts.

To G's chagrin, gate is shut. At least he can hunt. . .

Exhilaration: Maggie " Aerial" of Geordie

Geordie's butt. . . Maggie follows trail. All you see is Geordie's butt

Pack of two/Maggie checkin' out / Maggie is stealthy.

A pensive moment? Geordie's "scratch 'n sniff session."

Geord considers options. Maggie "truckin' like the do-dah man. . ."

I must wade out of a Mt. Everest of papers that is this house. Moreover, it's 8:30 and we still haven't had dinner. I must keep up with the news-- or what passes for it.

TTFN,
Jill, Maggie, Geord-an

Lopez Eight Happy Birthday-- "Now We Are Six"

Geordie and Spicey's rendezvous in late May through early June of 2000 resulted in a beautiful litter of eight puppies, five boys and three girls on this day on beautiful Lopez Island, as breeder, Carol Onstad of Scotch Broom Cairn Terriers, played canine midwife to Madonna-like Spicey, as one puppy after another entered the world. (As I recall, I was out boating with Larry, Alan, Alan's then-girlfriend, and her parents on the Willamette River when several of them were born.)

Rooty, who is Scotch Broom Ginger Root, ME, was the "earthdog prodigy" of the group-- smashing his father's AKC Earthdog Cairn terrier youth records for all levels of earthdog-dom, except at the Senior level, for which they tied to the day! He lives in Renton, Washington with his "sister" Freda and Randy and Daryl Bahls.

Tarry, aka Scotch Broom Tarragon, CD, JE was the obedient one of the group. Still is, mostly, I presume. He bloomed fairly late as an earthdog. In fact, his owner Bette Shuh and I and many others thought of Tarry as "the pacifist," as his initial contact with them appeared to be an effort to befriend them. . .Time passed, and his enchantment turned to sheer terrier instinct. The Mark Spitz of the litter, Tarry once outswam a Newfoundland in pursuit of a tennis ball.

Cairn Terrier Aquatics
(From Holy Terrier Dog Designs)

He lives with his human Bette and his sister Ede in both Portland, OR and Lopez Island, WA. Mostly it's Lopez Island, though. Tarry's other talents include earning the title of The Fastest Cairn Terrier in the Northwest for three years in a row. (This link shows 2003.)

Riley, who is also Scotch Broom Haute Cuisine, is the Emeril Lagasse of the litter, always "kicking it up a notch" for Lew and Jenny Pic in Florida. He makes the best dog treats ever.

Cairn Terrier Haute Cuisine
(New on Holy Terrier Dog Designs)

I found myself stealing from Maggie and Geordie's Care Packages, munching on the cheese cookies-- well, all the varieties-- except for the liver.

Scotch Broom Rosemary lives in Portland, OR with Laura and Richard Riter, her pet Westie named Brodie, having adapted beautifully to her job as Baby Adam's nanny.

She is incredibly maternal toward her young charge and guards him and his family against intruders. Rosie and Brodie recently showed their earthdog instincts by double-teaming and disposing of an unwelcome guest, a rat, in the backyard.

Happy Birthday!
Jill, Daddy Geordie, Aunt Maggie

You Don't Send Me Flowers: It's Geordie's Birthday!

Geordie turned 11 today-- a prime number. Morning started with Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials yoghurt parfaits for M&G. (your source, of course)

Mostly, this August 7th has been pretty much as most others-- except that from time to time, Larry and I would utter the words, "Happy Birthday, Geordie"-- or something similarly lame and uncreative. Here is his astrological chart. I know that everyone who reads this will want to see it

He got flowers for his birthday. However, we didn't give them to him. A firm believer in selecting his own gifts, Geordie stole a plastic vase full of sweet pea blooms off the kitchen table but this went unnoticed until we discovered them scattered upon the table. Petals led toward his "lair"and the

Circumstantial Evidence.

At Larry's suggestion, we took Maggie and Geordie to this really scuzzy state park with a cool- sounding name-- Bonnie Lure Park, at Eagle Creek, which flows into the Clackamas River. Its internet description was a bit of a hype. The only "terrestrial mammals" we saw were humans and canine. The native plants were of the variety that would not be ignored.

The forty-minute drive led to more heat and mugginess than home. A short and uninspired trail offered an abundance of stinging nettles, blackberry brambles, and drunken teenagers-- apparently that was the "wildlife" to which the Web site for Bonnie Lure referred.

At one juncture, Geordie lusted after (instead of wanting to pulverize it) a Rottweiler-cross bitch, but nothing would become of it, as we detoured through a skinny corridor generously lined with thorny blackberries and yet more nettles. Maggie grazed on blades of grass, ruminant that she is. When we were finished, the dogs slaked their thirst with some water we'd brought from home.

Meanwhile, Pat Gentry, had already arrived in her turtle-home-- a very homey fifth wheel-- with her dogs, which included a ten-day-old puppy. I am referring to him as "Vagabond" because he is on the road. He is also Geordie's latest grandson.

"Vagabond" grandson and Ol' Grandpa Geordie

Maggie and Geordie feasted on a raw turkey neck and an assortment of organic greens, which included beet greens, arugula, cilantro, and more. Each received a Cinnabone and some dried tripe.

Happy Birthday also to Haggis, Geordie's litter brother.

Bon anniversaire, mon cher Louis Geord-an. . . Je t'aime!

Jill and Mag (who loves him in her own way)